All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4)

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  ‘I love Miss Williams, and have esteemed her most highly since our first introduction at Bath – for which I once again owe you thanks, Frederick.’

  Tilney gave the slightest of nods. Pringle saw little trace of marked affection on his part, and sensed more tolerant amusement – much like a man watching puppies at play. He could not help feeling that the major was making sport of them all. He had not known that Tilney had introduced them, and wondered once again whether that was the limit of the major’s interest and involvement.

  ‘My adoration is both fervent and fixed,’ said Garland, and the choice of words made Pringle believe that here was someone else acting a part. ‘And yet I had not believed my suit to be successful.’ He glanced at Tilney. ‘My feelings are unchanged, but I do not believe that there was anything resembling an understanding between myself and Miss Williams – much as I might wish for one. There was most certainly no promise.

  ‘And so, when you came and insisted that I honour my obligation to the lady, there was no obligation. It took me quite by surprise, and the impression of compulsion made me angry.’ Garland gave a half-smile. ‘Since I left school, I have never permitted anyone to compel me to do anything.’

  Pringle had heard similar sentiments from many fellow officers, and if he was honest took the same pride in his own freedom to act. It was all a little absurd, given that every day they obeyed orders as part of their duties.

  ‘I will not be compelled, sir – I simply will not.’ The accent was stronger now. ‘I shall marry Miss Williams with the greatest joy in the world if she now accepts my offer, but I could never be made to do anything, even so desirable a thing as that.’

  Billy Pringle did not know what to say. He wondered whether this was how Hanley felt most of the time, as if peering through a misty window at folk who were foreign in almost every way, their behaviour following rules that were as absurd as they were strict.

  ‘I am happy to hear it,’ said Truscott, once he realised that his friend was not about to speak.

  Pringle rallied himself at last. ‘As am I,’ he managed. He was not sure whether he wanted to roar with laughter at the ridiculousness of the whole thing or shoot Garland again for risking their lives and careers for so small a point of conduct and pride.

  Miss Williams and her brother were summoned, the girl demure now, her face cast down and full of worry. Garland asked for a moment for them to be alone, and all save Kitty withdrew a discreet distance so that they could not hear what was said. Pringle was the only one to notice the glance of intense hatred – and also, he was sure, disappointment – that the girl shot at Tilney as he passed. Hanley and the two subalterns joined them as they watched.

  Then Kitty yelped like the schoolgirl she still really was and flung her arms around the wounded Garland, making him wince with pain.

  ‘Will his family permit the alliance?’ Williams asked Tilney, for Truscott had explained the lieutenant’s resolution.

  ‘His parents are indulgent,’ drawled the light dragoon officer with a barely perceptible hint of disapproval, ‘and he is a younger son. No doubt there will be an allowance – perhaps not a large one, although I dare say enough for modest tastes. You would be a better judge of whether or not that meets the lady’s expectations.’

  Pringle pressed Williams on the arm, for he knew the man was insulted and feared a new quarrel and perhaps even the shattering of this happy resolution. ‘I believe Lieutenant Garland wishes to speak to you.’ Williams’ father had died in an accident at work when the children were all young, and once he became an adult he assumed the role of guardian to his sisters.

  The big man strode forward, bidding his sister to go with Hanley and Truscott back to the inn. Williams was almost as concerned as Truscott to behave properly – perhaps more concerned, for his origins left him sensitive to any hint that his gentility was not recognised by others.

  ‘I had not been aware that it was you who introduced the couple, Major Tilney,’ said Pringle in as innocent a tone as he could manage. Billy was glad to have his jacket and long coat back on.

  ‘It was of little moment. I was introduced to the lady by a friend at the Assembly Rooms. Garland was a cornet in my troop in the Twelfth, and followed me when I exchanged into the Fourteenth. He had few connections in Bath, and it seemed reasonable for me to make some introductions. Miss Williams has a charming appearance, and as the opportunity arose I made them known to each other.’ The tone suggested that both were of no real account in society and so well matched. ‘Garland is a willing enough fellow, but apt to overreach himself.’

  ‘I am glad that he overreached his aim, at least,’ said Pringle, surprised that the major was telling him so much. He strongly suspected that Miss Williams had originally set her cap at Tilney himself, and wondered how long – and how well – they had known each other before Garland appeared. Tilney spoke of both the young people in a way that indicated absolute unconcern for their welfare.

  ‘Poor Robert had even presumed to pay attentions to my own sister,’ Tilney went on, ‘and so the transfer of his affections to Miss Williams came as a considerable relief to us. Can you imagine it – the fellow’s father digs coal!’ The two light dragoon subalterns sniggered appreciatively.

  ‘Not in person, one would imagine.’

  ‘Oh, of course, but that scarcely makes it any better. Such dirt does not easily rub away.’

  Pringle felt that the major’s sneers were aimed mainly at his fellow dragoons. He must appear a good fellow for condescending to befriend young Garland, without ever diminishing his own superiority. It was sad to think of the lieutenant trailing eagerly behind a man who constantly reminded the world of the junior officer’s lack of breeding.

  Thank God I’m not in the cavalry, thought Pringle, and was relieved to see Williams helping Garland walk over to join them. Matters were concluded, and arrangements made, and so finally they could get in out of the rain. Pringle longed to be warm and dry, and to eat the hearty breakfast he had been unable to face before they left. He would also be glad to see the back of Tilney, whose sneering manner was already tiresome.

  ‘A charming young lady,’ he heard the major say softly as the light dragoons and the doctor took Garland away, ‘and I do enjoy charming young ladies.’

  ‘Bastard,’ muttered Pringle, and then felt guilty and was glad Hanley had left, for he knew his friend disliked the word. He would lay ten to one that Tilney had seduced Miss Williams and then passed her on to Garland for his own convenience and amusement. Eight to one the major and not the lieutenant was the father. If that was the case then best to hope that Garland did not realise – or less plausibly that he did not care. Pringle was not inclined to worry too much one way or the other about Kitty Williams, but the contentment of her brother and older sister mattered to him a good deal. He had risked life and career for them – and because he struggled to cope with the dullness of being away from the war.

  Williams approached, holding out his hand. ‘Billy,’ he said, ‘I do not know how I can thank you, or apologise for subjecting you to this when it should have been my job.’

  There was no point explaining his fears to Williams. Perhaps he was wrong, and had simply grown too untrusting of his fellow men.

  ‘Don’t mention it, old boy,’ he said, and smiled. Sometimes it was simply easier to act a part.

  3

  ‘Soldiers, Daddy, look, soldiers!’ cried a small boy perched on a man’s shoulders. The father was stocky, his clothes threadbare, and although he was still young there were flecks of grey in his black hair. He neither looked nor answered his son, and instead pointedly turned away, so that the lad now saw Williams and his little face erupted into even greater ecstasy. ‘A soldier! A soldier! Look, he’s got a sword!’

  Williams smiled at the boy and ignored the father’s sour glance. A few days in charge of a recruiting party had soon accustomed him to the hostile expressions provoked by the sight of a soldier. The army was for the desperate, and he
had been sent around the mill towns precisely because business was bad and workers were being laid off. The 106th was ordered to recruit itself up to full strength and its new commander, Lieutenant Colonel FitzWilliam, was determined to find the best material. They needed to act quickly. The regiments in Portugal and throughout the empire always needed men. Worse still, one of the biggest expeditions ever seen had gone earlier in the year to Holland. Most of those corps had not yet returned, and from all Williams had heard, many of the men never would. Fever had ravaged the army, taking the lives of thousands and leaving as many more unlikely to recover. Its new commander wanted the 106th to take the pick of the bunch before the whole country was thronged with recruiters.

  ‘Hello, soldier,’ said the boy.

  ‘Hello, young man,’ Williams replied, and this at least prompted a grateful smile from the father. The man had quick, intelligent eyes, and hands that were soft underneath some recent blisters. Williams guessed he was educated, perhaps a clerk, but had recently been forced to take any work he could get to feed his family. An older woman appeared beside the man.

  ‘A soldier, Gran,’ said the child, pointing in case she failed to notice Williams. Then doubt creased the small forehead. ‘He should have a horse.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ apologised the woman, whose face was heavily lined with care.

  ‘It is fine.’

  ‘But he should have a horse,’ the boy continued, with utter conviction. ‘He’s a soldier.’

  ‘He is in his stable being fed,’ said Williams.

  ‘Good.’ That appeared to resolve the mystery, and further conversation became impossible when on the far side of the square the drummer from Williams’ party plunged into a series of flamboyant tattoos, the sound echoing off the houses and for a moment checking the busy hubbub of market day. The boy was carried off into the mass, his father accompanied by his grandmother. The child was obviously delighted with the sights and sounds and began waving his hands as if he had sticks and his father’s head was a drum.

  Williams made his way through the crowd towards the redcoats, and could not help sighing at the thought that he had possessed a horse for a few brief weeks in the summer. The mare was an Andalusian, fast, elegant and well mannered even with an inexperienced rider like Williams. It was a gift given after Talavera as a reward for saving the life of the Spanish commander, and from the very beginning the subaltern had known that it was too fine and delicate an animal for a mere subaltern in the line to feed and maintain. Williams had no funds beyond his pay, and was unable to afford proper feed to keep the mare in condition, let alone a groom to care for her. He had sold the horse when he reached Lisbon, and received the princely sum of two hundred guineas from a newly arrived major general. The price was fair, perhaps even a little low, and it was more money than he had ever had – almost than he had ever dreamed to have. When they reached England and finally received eight months of back pay in one lump sum, for a while Williams felt himself to be rich.

  It did not last, and his funds were now much diminished. There were bills to pay, for all the usual deductions had steadily accumulated, and it seemed that more than half of his wages vanished in the twinkling of an eye and the scratching of a pen in an account book. Then there were presents for his mother and sisters, and since then the drain of hunting for the errant Kitty, and of taking her up to Scotland with Garland, where the two were wed in that strange ceremony over the anvil. Both Garland and Tilney were due to join their regiment in Lord Wellington’s army, and so there was no time for the banns to be called.

  Williams had gone to represent the family, and although brief acquaintance convinced him that Garland was sincere and to be trusted, it was proper for him to be there. Kitty had done better than she deserved, winning a decent and well-off husband at the end of her silly and dangerous adventure. The impression of her great good fortune was reinforced when they visited Mr and Mrs Garland on their way back south. An initially tepid welcome quickly became very warm, for the parents clearly doted on all of their children and were delighted to see their son happy. Kitty flattered them with enough obvious sincerity to win them over. She had always been personable, and had a social confidence that Williams himself utterly lacked. For the moment she would live in Bristol with his mother and sisters, until ‘her hero returned from the wars’. The willingness not to be a burden on her husband’s parents had very much helped to win over Mr Garland, who seemed a good deal shrewder than either his wife or younger son.

  The young couple remained with the Garlands for a few days when Williams hurried to rejoin the battalion. Yet once her husband took her to Bristol on his way to Plymouth, Kitty would need the support of his family. Williams could already see his funds draining away, for even if Garland helped there were bound to be greater expenses.

  ‘Now come, all my brave lads, and enlist today in the finest regiment in the whole army!’ The drummer had finished and Lance Sergeant Dobson’s voice carried across the square. ‘The One Hundred and Sixth are taking just a few, high-spirited young men – those whose hearts beat high to tread the path to glory!’

  Williams moved to the side, waiting to play his own part.

  ‘We are the Hundred and Sixth and we are the youngest corps to serve the King. To our enemies we are a terror, and them Frenchies shake at the knees when they see us.’ He paused a moment for effect. ‘Almost as much as the village maidens’ hearts flutter at the sight of a fine young buck in the red facings of the Hundred and Sixth!’ Williams could not see Dobson through the crowd, but knew that he would now direct a wink and gesture towards the comeliest woman in sight. ‘Aye, miss, you know what I mean!’ There was laughter, as well as a few squeals of shock.

  ‘Look at me,’ said Dobson. ‘Almost an old man, and yet here I am with a new young wife just this year. Beautiful she is, and almost straight out of the nursery.’

  That was generous, and hid a tragedy. Dobson’s wife of many years, and the mother of his three children, had died in an accident during the retreat to Corunna. The new Mrs Dobson was widowed a week later. In the army way, they had remarried soon afterwards. Dobson must have been past forty, his gaunt face creased and tanned by a succession of tough campaigns. For all his years, he was as hard as the teak his skin resembled. Annie Dobson was scarcely a child, being twenty-seven, and her looks, though pleasant enough, were far from beauty, not least because she seldom smiled in company. Dobson’s wife was prim and very proper, and Williams had to admit that she had done her husband a world of good. In the past he had been frequently promoted and inevitably broken to the ranks for drinking. The death of one wife, and the arrival of a new one, had changed him, and the old veteran had been sober ever since. Williams hoped it would last.

  ‘It’s all because of these red facings and the bright red cross on the Colours of our regiment. We’re the youngest corps, and you all know that young men are the bravest and most vigorous.’ Williams imagined the prettiest woman again being singled out. ‘Only the best for the fair, for a beauteous maid can take her pick, can’t she, miss?’ More laughter, and louder, but less convinced squeaks of outrage.

  ‘That’s the One Hundred and Sixth! Always ready and always steady! The French know it and so do the lasses!’ Williams smiled as there was more laughter from the crowd. The motto was one devised by Lieutenant Colonel Moss, who had fallen in Portugal. Williams had once admired the man, but now understood that he was dangerously unwise and had led the battalion into a tight spot at Roliça, costing many more lives apart from his own. Moss had been ambitious, and ever eager to promote the regiment. Only he had ever used the slogan during his lifetime. Then, months later, it had reappeared as a joke, used more often to speak of women than of the French. Williams suspected that before he joined the army he would have found it vulgar, and yet now it made him laugh. He had marched and fought with the regiment for more than a year. The redcoats were often crude in speech and actions, unbecoming in appearance and had a capacity to drink themselves sense
less and behave like beasts that far surpassed even that of his fellow officers. Williams still admired them and trusted them with an affection close to love.

  ‘We’re the boys who saved the day at Vimeiro – who kept them Frenchies at bay when led by that great hero Sir John Moore, even though they outnumbered us ten to one! But then, who here doesn’t know that one English lad is a match for ten Frenchies!’ Williams might have believed that once. Now he knew that the French were as brave as anyone, and some of the finest soldiers in the world. In truth the wars were going Bonaparte’s way. Austria had surrendered after renewing the struggle earlier in the year, and Spain was on her knees. Britain was running out of allies once again, and there were probably at least ten French soldiers for each redcoat.

  ‘Talavera, my boys, have you heard that glorious name?’ Williams had to admit that Dobson was good at this game, working the crowd. He idly wondered whether the veteran remembered listening to similar patter on the day he first joined the army. ‘Ah, I see you have. It made our bold commander a lord, and twisted the nose of Bonaparte’s brother, so that he ran off with his tail between his legs and a British boot kicking his arse!

  ‘We were there, lads, of course we were, showing the way and standing tall amid shot and shell until the Frogs gave in.’

  Williams remembered the French bombardment. Most of the battalion was in England, but three companies had been stranded in Spain and he and Dobson and the others found themselves fighting in a unit cobbled together from other detachments. They had not always stood tall, for orders had come to lie down in the long grass. Men had still died, smashed into bloody fragments by cannonballs, and when the French infantry came the redcoats had stood up to face them. Williams had never before seen so bitter a fight. Dobson and Hanley had fallen, fragments of a howitzer shell striking both men in the legs, and they were lucky to escape being burned alive by the grass fires that raged after the fighting was done. Many were not so fortunate, and Williams wished that he could forget the screams of wounded men being roasted to death. No one could tell whether they were British, French or Spanish.