Beneath the Major's Scars

by Sarah Mallory

  There was no sign of the major. Zelah assumed he had not yet returned from Exeter. A pity, she thought, since the oppressive, sultry air hinted that the good weather would soon break and she would have liked him to see his house on such a beautiful day.

  Even with the windows open it was very warm in the library and she decided against emptying the last two crates that stood in one corner. She had peeked in them upon their arrival and knew they held large, ancient manuscripts that would require some exertion to move. Instead she settled down at her desk to continue cataloguing the books she had already sorted.

  When the pretty ormolu clock on the mantelshelf chimed noon she looked up, surprised at how quickly the morning had gone. She got up and stretched. The still air was heavy and oppressive. She went to the double doors and threw them open, but the dark stillness of the shuttered salon did nothing to dispel the humid atmosphere. She stood for a moment, listening. The house was hushed, expectant, as if it was waiting for her to act. Zelah crossed to the first window and after a short struggle with the catch she folded back the shutters and threw up the sash. She went to the next window, and the next. As the fresh air and sunlight flooded in the room seemed to sigh and relax, like a woman released from her confining stays. Zelah chuckled at the image. The room was decorated in yellow and white with the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling and the magnificent chimneypiece picked out in gold and reflected in the straw-coloured sofas and chairs. She took up a cushion and hugged it, revelling in the glowing opulence of the salon.

  ‘What in damnation do you think you are doing?’

  Zelah dropped the cushion and spun around. Major Coale was standing in the doorway, his scarred face pale with anger.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What are you doing in here?’

  ‘N-nothing. That is...I thought this room could use a little air.’

  ‘I gave express instructions that this room is to remain shuttered. I hate this salon. It is not a room for levity.’

  ‘Oh, but it is,’ cried Zelah, throwing her arms wide and spinning around. ‘Just look at the colours and the space. Can you not feel it? The happiness? It is a room for children, and laughter and lo—’

  She stopped.

  ‘Love? Marriage? A happy family?’ His face twisted into a bitter grimace, making the livid scar even more noticeable. ‘You are far too romantic, Miss Pentewan. In future you will confine your work to the library.’

  He turned and stalked out. Zelah frowned, but even as she strove to understand his anger she saw what she had not noticed before, that between each of the windows was a pier glass, paired with its equal on the opposite wall. Wherever she went, whichever way she turned, she could not escape her reflection.

  ‘Oh goodness. Major!’ Picking up her skirts she flew after him. ‘Major Coale, wait, please.’

  He was crossing the hall and she caught up with him just as he opened the study door. She put out her hands to stop him closing it in her face.

  ‘Please,’ she begged him. ‘Please let me apologise.’

  He glared at her, eyes blazing, his chest rising and falling as he fought to contain his rage. She held her ground and after a moment he turned and walked away. Silently she followed him into the room and shut the door.

  ‘I did not understand, until I saw the mirrors.’ He was standing with his back to her, staring down into the empty fireplace. She said quietly, ‘Forgive me, Major. I did not mean to make you angry.’

  ‘So now you will go back and close the room up again.’

  ‘Must I?’

  ‘Yes! I do not wish to be reminded of the monster I have become.’

  ‘You are not a monster!’ Angrily she caught his arm and turned him towards her. ‘You are a man, a soldier with a scarred face. Is that so very bad? You went to the assembly—’

  ‘That was an aberration, a moment of madness.’

  ‘Perhaps it was so, for you, but you were not shunned. One or two were shocked, of course, people who had not seen you before, but the majority—those who know and respect you—they accept you for what you are.’

  ‘What I am is a freak.’

  ‘Now you are just being foolish! There are many men with worse disfigurements than this, many whose wits are addled.’

  ‘And there are many who lost their lives!’ he flashed. ‘Do you think I am not aware of that? Do you think I do not know? Every time I see this scarred face it is a reminder of all those men that died, good men, with more right to live than I will ever have—’ He broke off and swung away towards the window. ‘From the moment we crossed into Spain I was writing letters of condolence. To wives, fathers, mothers, as more and more comrades perished. And still they died, those poor souls, never to see their homeland again. You have no idea of what it’s like to wake up at night asking, why me? Why should I live when all around me perished—Graddon was a fool to bring me back. And the others who helped him. They should have left me to die like the rest at Cacabelos—’

  ‘No!’ Zelah grabbed his arm and pulled him round again. ‘How dare you say such a thing. Any life lost is a tragedy, yes, but a life saved—it shows the love and respect in which you were held that so many put themselves out to bring you home! So your scars remind you of your fallen comrades. Is that so very bad? You are not the only one to have bitter regrets about the past. Perhaps instead of wallowing in your self-pity every time you look in a mirror you should feel proud to have fought beside those men.’ She stepped closer and put up her hand to touch his face. ‘These marks are not so very bad—’

  He grabbed her wrist and whipped her hand behind her back. They were so close that her breast brushed his waistcoat. Immediately her body tensed. She could see every detail of the long black lashes that fringed his eyes, the fine lines etched into his skin. She dropped her eyes to his mouth, the curve of his lips, the slight droop on the left where the scar ran close. In her mind she put her arms about his neck and gently touched her lips to the livid scar, kissing his brow, his cheek, his mouth, making him forget his injuries and remember that he was a man, like any other.

  ‘You go too far, madam.’ His voice was rough, not quite steady.

  Not far enough. The words were on the tip of her tongue. She felt her body softening, yielding to the magnetic power of the man. She felt naked under his scorching glance. It had been so long since any man had held her thus, but the desire for that first youthful love had not been as strong as this, as unconfined. She had never wanted a man as she wanted Dominic. His eyes wandered to her mouth and nervously she ran her tongue over her lips. Surely he would kiss her now, or she would die.

  He released her so suddenly that Zelah swayed.

  Dominic turned away from her, rubbing his eyes. This would not do. Only by an extraordinary effort of will had he resisted the temptation to kiss her. She was willing enough, he knew that look; the darkening lustre of the eyes, the soft flushing of the lips. He could have taken her, made love to her there and then in this very room, but what then? To have her working in his library was giving rise to scandalous rumour, but while it remained only that, she could still become a governess and maintain her independence. If he took her as his mistress it would outrage the neighbourhood and ruin her reputation for ever. When they grew tired of each other what would there be for her, save another man, another protector, until her looks had quite gone.

  ‘I b-beg your pardon,’ she said quietly. ‘I...perhaps I should leave. You could find another archivist.’

  He swung round. She was very pale, but outwardly composed.

  ‘Is that what you want?’ She shook her head and Dominic realised he had been holding his breath for her reply. He nodded. ‘Very well. We shall say no more of this. Go back to work, now, Miss Pentewan.’

  She clasped her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers together and running the tip of her tongue over her lips. Dear God, if she continued to do that it would be his ruin! He said roughly, ‘Well, madam?’

  ‘The salon. May I...will you allow the shu
tters to remain open?’

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘You are nothing if not persistent, madam. If it is your wish.’

  ‘Thank you. You might of course remove the pier glasses.’

  ‘No, let them stay. The room is designed for them.’

  He was surprised by his response and took a moment to consider how he felt. Exhausted, drained, but somehow calmer than he had felt for years. Somehow his outburst had been a catharsis. He had spoken to no one of his guilt and it had built inside him, reaching such proportions that it had distorted everything, even, he suspected, his view of his own disfigurement. When he looked up Zelah was still standing before him, uncertainty in her hazel eyes.

  ‘Will—will it prevent you coming to the library?’

  He thought about it. ‘I do not know. Shall we put it to the test?’

  He walked to the door and stood there, looking at her. After a brief hesitation she accompanied him back across the hall. The doors to the salon still stood wide. Beyond, the room glowed with the afternoon sunlight. It glinted off the gilded plasterwork, twinkled from the mirrors. His step slowed at the threshold and he held out his arm.

  ‘Will you do me the honour?’

  She placed her fingers on his sleeve and they processed slowly through the salon.

  ‘I had no idea you had returned from Exeter, Major.’

  ‘Evidently, or you would not have turned my house upside down.’ She shook her head, refusing to respond to his teasing. He continued. ‘I have ordered a carpet for the library. It will mirror the pattern on the ceiling, I hope you will approve.’

  She looked up quickly, surprise and pleasure in her eyes.

  ‘I am sure it will add the finishing touch.’

  They had gone more than halfway across the long room before Dominic realised that he had held out his left arm to her, so that when he looked to the left his eyes were drawn to her reflection rather than his own. And there was something else. The man in the mirror was walking with a sure, steady gait. He was no longer dragging his right leg.

  * * *

  Dominic stretched and rubbed his eyes. He had slept well again, untroubled by dreams or nightmares. That was three nights in a row. He put his hands behind his head, thinking about the change in him. It was due to Zelah. She had accused him of wallowing in self-pity. He could not deny it. She had coaxed and bullied and nagged him until finally he had erupted, his pain, anger and guilt spilling out and the relief, to finally confess it all to someone, had been overwhelming. That was three days ago and now he felt purged, ready to rebuild his life, to face the world.

  And it was all due to his little librarian.

  Graddon brought his shaving water and Dominic considered how best he could reward her. Money? The razor rasped over his cheek. No. He knew her well enough now to know her proud independent spirit would never accept such a gift, or any gift. Damnation, then how was he to thank her? One thing was certain, he would not let her become a governess. She deserved to be her own mistress, with her own servants to command. But how was he to engineer such a change in her life? It must not look as if he had any hand in the affair. He could set up an annuity and have his lawyer tell her it was from some long-lost relative, but that would mean taking her family into his confidence, and if her father was the upright clergyman she had described then he might not be happy to collude in such a lie. Besides, there was not much time. The work in the library was almost complete. Every day he dreaded that Zelah might come to him and say she had accepted another post. And once she had left her sister’s house—

  ‘Marriage!’

  Of course. He dropped his razor and dried his face quickly. Maria Buckland had already thought of an excellent plan. It was up to him now to carry it out.

  * * *

  When Zelah set off for another day at Rooks Tower, the sky was a blanket of unbroken grey and a freshening wind promised rain later. Spring was refusing to give way to summer. However, the lowering weather did not affect her spirits. When she thought of what she had achieved in the library she was pleased, but when she reached the house and walked through the salon, its window shutters now folded away to allow the light to fill the elegant space, her heart swelled with pride. She was pleased to think she was playing some part in Major Coale’s rehabilitation, encouraging him to see that he need not lock himself away and live a solitary existence.

  She must face up to the fact that she had grown fond of the major. Too fond. He could be overbearing and irascible, but she knew much of his ill temper sprang from the horrific injuries he had suffered, not just to his face, but to his mind. She had seen a softer side to his character and now her day was not complete unless she saw him—Zelah shook her head. Heavens, what was she thinking? She must not allow herself to become attached to Dominic Coale. It would be foolish to dwell upon his many kindnesses to her. They meant nothing, and if she should betray her feelings—she knew only too well how easily a man could succumb to temptation. It had almost destroyed her once, it must not happen again.

  It was therefore a very cool and formal greeting that she gave the major when he marched into the library the following morning, before returning her attention to her work. He appeared not to notice.

  ‘You will leave off your interminable cataloguing, Miss Pentewan. I have another job for you.’ He strode about the room as he spoke, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘I want you to compile a list of all the families in the county. Those with the rank of gentlemen and above, naturally.’

  She paused, her pen caught in mid-air.

  ‘A list, sir? Very well, if that is what you want...’

  ‘It is, and I want it complete by tomorrow. You may need to consult your sister on this.’

  ‘Yes, I think I shall have to do that.’

  She stared at his broad back, wondering if she dare ask him why he wanted these names. He swung round, catching her glance.

  ‘I am going to hold a ball.’

  Zelah dropped her pen.

  ‘A—a ball?’ She hurriedly blotted the ink that had splashed on to the ledger.

  ‘Yes. Now we have opened up the salon it seems a pity not to use it.’ He began to pace up and down the room. ‘My sister will be coming down to play hostess. I have already written to her. You and I will compile a list and then you will write to everyone, inviting them to attend.’

  ‘And...and when is this ball to be?’

  ‘At midsummer. Three weeks from now.’

  ‘Three weeks! So little time.’

  ‘I know, but it cannot be helped. I have asked Mrs Graddon to let me know what is required to make all the bedrooms habitable and I will be sending someone to buy what is necessary—give me a list of your requirements, pens, paper, seals and so on and they shall be fetched for you.’

  ‘Th-thank you,’ said Zelah, her head reeling. She listened as he explained the steps he had already taken to prepare for the event and drew a sheet of paper towards her to write down a few notes.

  ‘I think that is all,’ he said at last, rubbing his chin. ‘I must be off to find Phillips and ask him if Old Robin has been back yet to finish removing the moles from the south lawn.’ He strode towards the door and stopped. ‘Oh, and remember to put your own name on the list. You and your sister and brother-in-law will be my guests at dinner beforehand.’

  ‘Me? Oh, I do not think I could—’

  He turned to glower at her. ‘You will do as you are bid, Miss Pentewan. If I am going to all this trouble, then I expect you to make a little effort, too!’

  Chapter Nine

  Zelah was still dazed when she returned to West Barton that evening and it was a relief to unburden herself to her sister.

  ‘Do you not think it odd,’ she mused, ‘that a man who so very recently lived as a recluse should suddenly take it into his head to hold a ball?’

  Maria was inclined to be complacent. ‘That is the life he has been used to.’

  ‘But up until a few days ago he coul
d not bear to look at himself in the mirror. He kept the salon in darkness.’

  ‘Yes, until you showed him how nonsensical it was. You are a beneficial influence, Zelah. Think how much he has changed since he has met you.’

  ‘He would have come about, even without me, but a ball! That is most unexpected.’

  ‘He appeared to be enjoying himself at the assembly,’ returned Maria, her eyes twinkling. ‘Perhaps someone gave him the hint.’

  ‘Yes, but the worst thing is, he insists that I should be there. I suppose that he feels he cannot leave me out, since you and Reginald are invited. We are all to dine there, too, beforehand. And I am to tell you, sister, that he will have a suite prepared for you and the children, because he knows you will not stay away long from Baby.’

  ‘Well, I consider that to be exceedingly kind, and beyond anything I was expecting.’ She cast a shrewd look at Zelah. ‘Major Coale must think very highly of you, my dear.’

  ‘I think he values the work I am doing.’

  ‘Are you sure that is all?’

  ‘Of course. What else should a viscount’s son think of a parson’s daughter?’ Zelah forced herself to speak lightly and she was glad to see the speculation fade from Maria’s eyes.

  ‘Oh well, at least this will give you the opportunity to mix in society.’

  Zelah shook her head. ‘But I don’t want to mix.’

  ‘Well, you should. Who knows? There will be many gentlemen there, and dancing has been known to lead to greater things, like an offer of marriage.’