‘ “Take your dirty hand off my uniform!” You actually said that to Captain Sterling Campbell, Jack? I can’t believe it, though I know it must be true. Surely he wanted to run you through?’
‘He was greatly provoked, it was true. I could see his hand was itching to unsheath his blade, brother, but he was so unsure of himself after seeing the fury in my eyes he hesitated too long – and then the moment was gone, his rage no longer sufficient to fuel any rash action.’
‘I think this is all very childish,’ said their mother, rebukingly. ‘All this talk of insults and duels. We mothers have never understood why our sons have the souls of warriors. Why indeed did you need to be soldiers in the first instance? For my part, I wish you had both stayed at home. One moment playing with wooden horses, the next off to war. “Arms I sing, and the man.” I should have removed that dreadful Virgil from our bookshelves and perhaps the pair of you would not have been so influenced by it.’
They both laughed at their mother, startling their father for a moment.
‘Is it all right?’ asked the old man nervously, turning round to face Caleb McNiece. ‘Why are they making so much noise?’
‘Dinnae fash yersel’ laird, it’s no-but brattle.’
The major then turned back to the table and spoke to Jack.
‘You sir, can you pass the salt?’ he asked, and when Jack reached for it, added, ‘and the pepper pot too?’
When Jack became confused, trying to pick up both condiments with one hand and failing, the old man cackled in delight.
Jack smiled at what was obviously a joke. ‘You’ve still a wicked streak in you, Father,’ he said, ‘and I’m inclined to admire you for it now.’
‘Did I ever tell you the story,’ said his father, ‘of the time when the Duchess of Tyrol besieged Castle Hochosterwitz? It was in the fourteenth century, and those in the castle were close to starving . . .’
That evening there was a heavy snowfall. The baronet wandered out in the middle of the night, getting himself lost in the hills. They found him quickly enough by following his tracks. He had taken a sporting gun and was stalking deer by their spoor when they discovered him. Caleb McNiece carried the old man home on his shoulders, a full three miles, without complaint.
A week later Jack was down in Derbyshire. Gwilliams had now joined him after spending some time in London. Jane’s father, Mr Mulinder, had asked to see Jack in the drawing room and greeted him sternly when he entered, throwing a brief glance at the missing hand. Jack was in uniform and he knew he looked impressive. He shook Mr Mulinder’s hand and asked him how he did. Jane’s father said he was doing rather well, thank you kindly, and what was all this about a wedding?
‘I wish to marry Jane, sir, with your kind permission.’
‘And how d’ye plan to keep her?’ asked Mr Mulinder, one eye half-closed. ‘Not on a lieutenant’s pay, surely?’
Jane entered the room at that point.
‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy, Father, of course not. You know I have my own money, quite sufficient to keep two husbands, let alone one.’ Then seeing Jack’s face, added, ‘Not that they would need keeping.’
‘And who are these two husbands?’ asked Mr Mulinder, getting muddled. ‘And why d’ye need two?’
‘They are Alexander Kirk and Jack Crossman,’ replied his daughter, without hesitation. ‘Both fine men, from good families, and they both admire your daughter immensely.’
Mr Mulinder grunted, realizing he was, as usual, having his pomposity pricked by his daughter.
‘That’s another thing. What’s all this Jack Crossman business? Rather confusing if you ask me. What’s wrong with your old name?’
‘Nothing, sir, nothing at all, but I happened to join the army under an assumed name for reasons I would rather not go into, they being deeply personal. Having done so, it would be confusing for the army if I were to change it back again – they’re not very bright, the army, and they become confused easily. It is better I remain Jack Crossman for the duration of my army career. I have even trained my own family into this usage and I feel that if my brother and mother are prepared to go along with my foibles, then surely acquaintances, friends and distant relations should do likewise.’
Jack had not meant this to sound so aggressive but he had become a little weary of being attacked for his use of an assumed name. Why he chose to live under such he saw as his business. However, he felt he might have gone too far with Jane’s father, who stood there with a frown on his forehead while studying the toecaps of his shoes. But when Mr Mulinder looked up, he merely enquired mildly, ‘And what does your father think?’
‘Unfortunately, sir, my father is not of this world . . .’ Mulinder looked dreadfully shocked and darted an accusing glance at his daughter, but Jack realizing that the older man had mistaken his meaning, added quickly, ‘That is to say, his mind is now so feeble he does not know where he is, who he is, or who we are.’
Mr Mulinder’s expression cleared a little. ‘Oh, I say, that is unfortunate. It does happen, I know – my own mother, your dear grandmother, Jane – but that is neither here nor there. So, Major Kirk has passed beyond the understanding of men. Do give your mother – I take it she is still compos mentis? Yes, yes, of course she is, why should she not be – just because your father . . . Well, do give her our sympathy. We feel for her situation gravely. Now Jane, what is it you were doing in your room? I heard the most frightful noise as I passed an hour ago.’
Mr Mulinder’s mind, though not in any way feeble, did tend to dart like a silver fish between various rocks of enquiry.
‘I was culling my collection of shoes, Father,’ replied Jane with an amused look. ‘Now I know the method of your delaying tactics, Father, and poor Jack is standing there in great anxiety awaiting your answer to his question as to whether you wish to burden him with me. Put him out of his agony, Father.’
‘Wasn’t there another chap here just a short while ago with the same request?’
Jane blushed with embarrassment. ‘That was over a year ago, Father, and you know he cried off.’
The old man’s head jerked back. ‘Did he now? That’s scandalous. I ought to do something about that, oughtn’t I?’
‘No, you oughtn’t. We are far better off without him. You will please give us your blessing.’
‘Oh, as to that – well then, there it is, congratulations my boy and you have my best wishes. Where will you live? Not here, I hope. I mean, I love my daughter, but I think young people should live on their own.’
‘I quite agree, sir. I – I have been left a small house in Paris.’ Jack did not add that it was an inheritance from an ex-lover, though Jane was quite aware of the circumstances. ‘We shall go there, initially, if Jane agrees. Then it will be off to wherever the army sends us. There has been talk of India.’
‘India? Hmm. Lots of money to be made in India. Not so much trade these days, but revenues . . .’
The small round man then went to a decorated cigar box which he informed Jack had come from a place called Sarawak, where the local tribesmen collected each other’s heads. ‘They don’t grow tobacco there of course – they just make the boxes.’ He handed Jack a cigar and lit them both from a taper. They puffed away together for a few minutes, but Mr Mulinder was a businessman by choice and a landowner by inheritance, and having exhausted all his conversation about land use, he found that Jack knew very little about commerce. In order to escape the long silences that ensued between them he suggested Jack take Jane for a walk around the garden. Jack did so with great relief, much to Jane’s chagrin.
‘There’s snow on the ground,’ she said laughingly, tripping through the Italian Garden wrapped in warm clothes. ‘We can’t see a thing. This is complete madness, Jack.’
‘I had to get away, Jane. I know nothing about commerce.’
‘Oh, look, there’s Mrs Robin.’
Jack stared at the bird on a snowy twig. ‘Mr Robin, actually – you see it’s breast is very red. Hers would
be more of a light orange colour.’
‘You know so much about nature, do you, Mr Naturalist? Let me take you round our extensive gardens, hidden deep under the winter snow. This is the Dovecote Lawn – you see how green it is below that mantle of white? – and there is the Citrus House and the Vinery, and over there the Southern Summerhouse – and, oh look, the Little Brothy with the Thunderbox Room next to it . . .’
‘Ladies, especially the brides of commissioned officers, do not speak of thunderboxes, Jane. You will shock the commanding officer’s wife.’
‘Here is Hera’s Garden.’
‘Hera is here’s garden?’
‘No, silly . . .’
At that moment a figure familiar to both of them came striding down the West Path wearing a greatcoat, brown boots and army officer’s cap. It was Major Lovelace. Jack was not as shocked as he should have been having had a premonition of this visit. He saluted out of courtesy, then shook the hand of the Rifle Brigade major, who had once been an artillery officer, but was now a spy and saboteur of no mean experience.
‘Your servant, ma’am,’ said Lovelace to Jane, saluting her in a rather less formal way than the army required. ‘I hope I find you well.’
‘Not only well, major, but blissfully happy.’ She clutched and then hugged the arm of her beloved as if the major were about to try to take him away from her. ‘You’re not going to spoil our wedding plans, are you?’
‘Good Lord, no. I was in the district and thought I’d call by to tell your bridegroom that he is to go to India.’
‘India?’ cried Jack, immediately excited by the prospect. ‘When?’
‘Oh, when you are ready to go,’ said Lovelace, ‘within reason of course.’
‘And what will he do there?’ asked Jane, not averse to going to India herself as the wife of a lieutenant. ‘Is his regiment going?’
‘Oh, who knows what his regiment is doing? That is not our concern. Jack is beyond regiments now. He is one of my little band. We go to the East India Company’s army to further ourselves in the murky world of information-gathering. Colonel Hawke feels there would be mutual benefit from you attaching yourself to a chap called Hodson . . .’
‘Of Hodson’s Horse?’ said Jack, now fired by the idea that he might meet such men as John Nicholson and Neville Chamberlain, the men who had conquered the Punjab and scouted Kashmir and Afghanistan.
‘The very man. He’s not much liked, but that’s neither here nor there. He could teach you much, and possibly learn a little himself. The North-West Frontier is the place to be at the moment. It might be that, as an infantry officer, you may prefer to attach yourself officially to a regiment of foot. Coke’s Rifles, perhaps?’
‘I would prefer Lumsden’s Corp of Guides, and the infantry be damned – excuse me, Jane.’
‘Well, that will depend on what Hawke arranges for you.’ Lovelace took out a pocket watch and studied it. ‘Now, I am due in London. I am going by train and strange to be said these steam machines have timetables which they keep to the minute. You will excuse me?’
Jane said, astonished, ‘You are not staying for some warm refreshment, major?’
‘No, do forgive my poor manners, I cannot.’
‘But you will be coming to our wedding?’
Lovelace smiled. ‘That I shall endeavour to work into my schedule.’
‘We shall he pleased to see you there,’ she said.
Later that night, while Gwilliams assisted him in undressing, Jack said, ‘We might be going to India.’
‘Well, there’s a territory I ain’t laid eyes on yet. You got any books on the place?’
‘I’ll find you one tomorrow.’
It struck Jack, at that moment, that Gwilliams might turn out to be another Caleb McNiece, standing by his chair when his mind had flown.
Lying in bed, once the candle had been snuffed, Jack considered where his life was going. He was to be married, that was certain, but what about this career he seemed to have found by default? Spy and saboteur? The job entailed destroying things, rather than creating them. All his young life he had admired inventors and engineers – men like Brunel – who raised things up – glorious things like iron bridges, great ships, steam trains. Yet now here he was consolidating a career in bringing such things down, blowing them up, smashing them to pieces. How contrary. Yet the subcontinent of India! Now that was a land to get the pulses racing and the brain in a fever of excitement. Heat and dust. Exotic cultures by the score. New peoples, new landscapes, new ideas and new revelations.
Could he turn down such an opportunity?
Never in a million years.
Attack on the Redan Page 33