A bottle whistled past them, turning end over end until it smashed against a wall and sprayed vicious shards of glass onto the paved street. Another followed, to bounce from a doorway and land on the ground, where it rolled harmlessly and erratically toward the road.
'Head them off!' That was Pete's voice. 'Don't let them get out of the street.'
The gaunt faced man giggled hysterically, 'look, reinforcements!'
Jack swore as another body of soldiers appeared at the end of the road.
'What's to do, boys?' One of the newcomers yelled.
'Get these bastards,' Pete replied, and the newcomers spread out across the street, grinning.
'We're trapped!' the woman shrieked.
Jack hustled her into the recessed door of one of the black-and-white timber-framed houses. 'Get in there,' he ordered and turned to face the soldiers. There were eighteen now, either drunk or nearly so and they formed a semi-circle around the doorway, blocking any hope of escape.
'Now we've got you, you bastard,' three missing teeth defaced Pete's grin.
'You monsters!' the woman shouted, 'fight fair!'
Jack took a single step forward, so he was clear of the woman and adopted the classical prize-fighting stance his school had taught him. 'I'll fight any or all of you,' he said, 'but leave the woman alone.'
The soldiers jeered, with Pete making obscene gestures that left no doubt as to his intentions toward the woman.
'Oh, you cowards!' the woman said. She pushed level with Jack and tossed her head back; blonde curls bounced around her face. Twenty of you against one man and a woman! No!'she said as Jack tried to hold her back, 'I will not keep out of the way. 'We will fight them together!'
'You're a spunky little piece, I grant you,' Jack told her, 'but it would have been better if you had held your tongue!'
Her smile took him by surprise. He could feel her trembling, but whether out of fear or anger, he did not know. 'Some things just have to be said.'
'What a bold ensign,' sandy hair said, his east-end London accent slurred with alcohol.
'He's game right enough,' crop-head added, 'a right little fighting cock we have here.'
They remained where they were, encouraging each other with loud boasts and high pitched laughter at their crude jokes.
'Come on then, if you dare!' Jack challenged. He could feel the woman close beside him and lowered his voice. 'Could you back off, please? I'll need space here.'
'You can't fight them all!' she replied.
Pete led the rush with an unsophisticated head-down rush that Jack parried easily. He landed a single punch that missed Pete's jaw but landed squarely on his cheekbone. As Pete staggered, Jack swung at crop-head; his target dodged and the blow bounced from the forehead of a squat, evil eyed man of about thirty and then the soldiers were on him. Jack grunted as a kick landed high on his thigh, and then staggered as a punch landed on his shoulder. He heard the woman's defiant shout alter to a scream.
'Leave the woman alone!' he yelled.
Jack kicked at one soldier who lunged for his groin, elbowed another that grabbed his arm and swore as something hard crashed into his leg. He did not see the arm that wrapped around his throat and pulled him backwards.
'Get in here Jack for God's sake.'
Jack could not resist as somebody dragged him inside the building and banged shut the door behind him. He looked around; the woman was already inside, and Ruth was shaking her head at him.
'You do need looking after, don't you?' she said. 'Somebody has to take you in hand.'
'Thank you,' Jack panted. Only then did he become aware of the various aches and pains in his body. He struggled to control his ragged breathing. 'You came at the right time.'
They were in a stone flagged corridor, illuminated by the flickering light of a single candle that did not penetrate far into the gloom. There were darker shadows behind the low beams.
Ruth nodded and jerked her thumb at the woman. 'Who is your trouble-making friend?' She shook her head and addressed the woman directly. 'That was a foolish thing to do, interfering in a fight between the peelers and the redcoats.'
'I am Lucinda Harcourt,' the woman sounded very calm, 'daughter of…'
'You can be the daughter of the Devil for all I care,' Ruth said as she drew a massive bolt across the door. 'But we'd better get you somewhere safe. The sojer-boys have you in their mind now, and they won't rest until they get you or until they are locked up and sober.'
'We're safe now,' Lucinda said.
Again Ruth jerked a thumb in the direction of the soldiers in the street outside. 'Not with that lot.' She stepped back as something heavy hammered on the outside of the door. 'See what I mean? They'll kick the door right in to get you. If they had half the sense of a dog they'd use the window, but… 'She shrugged, 'who ever said that sojers had sense. If they had, they wouldn't join the army.'
'And just who are you?' Lucinda straightened her skirt and bounced her curls back. 'I've lost my hat! Oh,' she looked at Jack as if expecting him to run out and fetch it for her. 'Did you hear me? I've lost my hat!'
'I'm the woman who saved you from getting raped,' Ruth was very blunt. 'Now follow me and don't do anything foolish, if that is possible.' She flinched as there was another massive crash against the door. 'We'd better hurry; that door won't last for ever.'
Lifting the candle, she headed along the corridor with her skirt swishing around her bare feet. 'Come on Jack; you, Lucinda, you can come or go as you choose. I don't care which but if you stay the sojer boys will have their sport with you.'
Hitching her skirt, Lucinda followed as Ruth led them through a succession of dark rooms and to another door. 'This will take you to a lane that leads to Broad Street,' she said. 'Now you're on your own.'
'How can I thank you?' Jack asked, but Ruth shook her head.
'Just get out,' she opened the door wide and pushed him between the shoulder blades. 'Go now.'
Broad Street was nearly empty, with only a handful of people walking and a stance for hackney-cabs on the opposite side of the road.
'I think I'd best take you home,' Jack said.
'I think I will decide where I go,' Lucinda told him.
'Come on,' Jack ignored her protests, took hold of her arm and led her to the cab stance. 'Where do you live?'
'That is hardly your concern,' Lucinda shook herself free.
'Miss Harcourt isn't it?' The middle-aged cab driver leaned across. 'If you care to step inside sir, I will take you both to the young lady's house.'
'You know her?' Jack asked.
'Everybody in Hereford knows Miss Harcourt,' the driver said. 'In you come, Miss Harcourt and I'll see you safely home. You too sir, if you care to.'
No! Women will blight my career; I should walk wide of this one.
But Jack knew he could not do that. He was a gentleman by instinct and training. As such it was his duty to protect women; even women such as this vocal hedgehog who everybody except he knew. 'In you go, Miss Harcourt,' he gave her an ungentle push inside the cab and followed her in. He raised his voice. 'Take us to Miss Harcourt's house please driver.'
'You've no right to do this,' Lucinda protested, 'I will tell my father.'
'You can tell the Queen and the Archbishop of Canterbury if you wish,' Jack was tired of the company of Lucinda Harcourt. 'It matters not a dot to me.'
That was true, he told himself. In a few days or perhaps even a few hours he would be with his regiment and out of range of the spleen of any civilian from Hereford or anywhere else. He leaned back against the leather cushion; he would soon be an ensign of British infantry, and then he would climb the ranks and regain his former prestige and position, somehow. All he needed was a few bloody wars and the chance to prove himself against a foreign foe. He stared out of the window as they growled through the dark streets of Hereford.
There always seemed to be some enemy on the fringes of the British Empire. He wished he had grown up a decade before when he cou
ld have tested his mettle against the Afghans, the Kaffirs or the Sikhs. Now the Sikhs were vanquished, and the Afghans were licking their wounds behind the Khyber Pass. There was still the Kaffirs to fight, but there was little glory in chasing naked savages across Africa. Jack grunted involuntarily; he needed a more worthy foe than that to earn his spurs and start the climb back to respectability. He closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever lead his men to face the French; another Peninsula campaign would be bloody and glorious, with General Jack Windrush…
'Here we are sir, Miss Harcourt,' the driver's voice interrupted his imaginings. 'The Harcourt residence.'
'I'll take you to the front door,' Jack said.
I may as well do the thing properly.
'I am sure I know the way,' Lucinda's glare could have curdled milk.
'All the same,' he said cheerfully, 'a job half done is not done at all.' He slid out of the cab, asked the driver to wait for him and walked at Lucinda's side.
The Harcourt's house was neo-classical, with Doric columns displaying the master's wealth and power. Jack waited while Lucinda skipped up the flight of stairs that led to the front door. Before she was half way the door opened and a large man with an impressive set of white whiskers appeared.
'Who the devil are you, sir,' he said to Jack, 'and what do you mean by bringing my daughter home at this time of night?'
'I am Jack Windrush, sir,' Jack said, 'and I am endeavouring to bring your daughter home in safety.'
'I'll be damned if you are,' Harcourt said. 'Jack Windrush eh? I'll remember that name, mark my words. Now be off, or I'll set the dogs on you!' He grabbed Lucinda by the shoulder and hustled her inside the house. The door slammed shut.
For a moment Jack stood still. Major Welland had warned him to keep clear of women, and by God he was right. He had met two today: one had picked his pocket, and the other was a flighty, prickly piece of pure trouble. Both were reminders that his career lay in a world of military glory and not in domestic disharmony.
'Where to, sir?' The cab driver asked.
'City Arms Hotel,' Jack said. 'I have a coach to catch at five tomorrow morning.'
Chapter Three
At Sea, Winter 1852
Ten years. Jack leaned on the rail of the Peninsula and Oriental liner Ripon and watched the harbour lights of Southampton fade into the bleak distance. The homesickness increased as nausea rose in his throat. The authorities had told him the 113th would be in India for at least ten years. He would not see England again until he was thirty years old; if he survived. The steady chunk of Ripon's paddles only increased his depression.
'Cholera, fever, loneliness, a hundred different types of diseases they have not even identified yet.' The educated tones drawled out the words in between long pulls at his cheroot. 'You are going all the way out East are you not?' His eyes were fringed with lashes as long as any girls.
'I am,' Jack agreed. He did not feel like talking.
His companion did. 'I thought so; you have the look of a man who is saying goodbye to England for a long time.' He took another pull at his cheroot. 'It can't be long enough in my case.' He tossed the cheroot over the rail and watched it spiral down until the dark water extinguished it.
He wants me to ask why.
Jack said nothing. The lights of Southampton were a dim glimmer through the haze.
'Do you know India?' The man lit a second cheroot.
'I was born there,' Jack said unguardedly.
The man raised a languid eyebrow. 'Oh: an Anglo-Indian are you?'
'No; military.' Jack resented the implication that he was from one of the civilian families who made their careers in India.
'Military background? I did not see you at Addiscombe.' The dark brown eyes were as innocent as Eve's serpent.
Addiscombe: that is the training school for the army of the Honourable East India Company; he is a John Company officer.
'I was not there,' Jack said.
'You're in a Queen's regiment then; which one?' The questions were relentless as the officer probed deeper into Jack's situation.
Jack nearly gagged as he spoke the name. '113th Foot;' he could not hide the bitterness as he added: 'the Baby Butchers.'
The officer gave a little smile. 'I am George Lindsay, soon to be of the Madras Fusiliers.' He held out his hand, 'what name did fate bless you with?'
Jack took the hand. 'I am Jack Windrush.'
Lindsay leaned slightly closer. 'Windrush; now there's a famous name. You're not related to the Windrushes are you? The famous Fighting Will of the Royal Malverns?'
Jack instantly denied any family connection. 'Only by name.'
'I thought not. If you were you'd be going into the Royals and not the 113th.'
'Exactly so,' Jack nodded. 'But I am only going into the 113th.' He thought he saw smug contempt flick across Lindsay's face. 'You'll be spending your entire John Company career in India then?' Jack shook his head slowly, 'I have heard there is plenty of money to be made if you survive.' He stepped back from the rail; the lights of England had disappeared behind a wall of mist: his past must vanish as completely. 'Now, I must get ready for my career serving the Queen. You fight for the profits of fat merchants; I fight for my country.'
And to get my name and honour back, but that is none of your damned business.
'In the 113th, old man, you only fight children and civilians,' Lindsay appeared unruffled. 'Your regiment has an unfortunate tendency to run away from real soldiers; especially Indian ones.' He waved his cigar in the air, winked and sauntered away.
He's right, damn him!
Jack opened his mouth to argue, decided he could not and stomped to the deck below. He shared his cabin with two other young India-bound officers, both of whom talked of nothing but glory and women.
'I have fixed my eye on that brunette looker,' Ensign Rands decided, 'she's the gal for me.'
'Oh my word,' Cornet Simpson's affected drawl did nothing to hide the acne that disfigured his face, 'she's a delicate piece and makes the most of it, don't you know?' He yawned openly. 'My preference is for that lively blonde. She'll be a Cheapside bargain.' He looked at Jack, 'how about you Windrush old man?'
'Women are a distraction,' Jack said and sought solitude on a ship where that was a scarce commodity. When promenading passengers crowded the upper deck, Jack found a small space in the darkness of the cable store, lit the stub of a candle and studied his profession.
When the weather turned wild in the Bay of Biscay, the upper deck was remarkably clear, so Jack positioned himself beside the upside down launch and began to study military manuals. 'Courage, above all things, is the first quality of a warrior,' he read as the spray spattered around him. He lowered Clausewitz's On War when he heard a familiar laugh.
Ensign Lindsay and Cornet Simpson faced toward him as they spoke animatedly to a tall woman in a blue boat-cloak. As Jack watched, the women laughed again and turned her head, allowing him to see her face.
Good God, what are you doing here?
Lucida Harcourt looked directly at him. 'Is that Ensign Windrush?' She raised a white gloved hand in salutation. 'Won't you join us?'
'Do you know that bookish fellow?' Lindsay asked. 'I'm afraid he much prefers his own company to that of ours.' He slipped a hand through the crook of Lucinda's arm. 'I do believe he does not care for ladies either.'
Jack opened his mouth to retaliate but closed it again. Clausewitz says: 'If the leader is filled with high ambition and if he pursues his aims with audacity and strength of will, he will reach them in spite of all obstacles.' Lucinda is merely another obstacle to my aim. I will not weaken at the first hurdle.
'Oh,' Lucinda gave him a look of astonishment. 'I see. Well, Ensign Windrush, we will leave you to your own devices on this occasion, but your future company would please me very much.'
'Oh leave him, Lucinda, he's a queer fish,' Simpson dismissed Jack with a sneer. Lucinda awarded Jack with a small smile and waved her hand at him behind her ba
ck as she promenaded along the canting deck with her companions.
Clausewitz welcomed Jack back.
'Are you joining us for a hand of whist, Windrush? Lucinda and Harriet will be there.' That was a daily invitation in spells of clear weather, and Jack gave a reply that gave rise to much amusement and not a little contempt.
'I have too much to do; you carry on.'
'Oh he certainly does not like the company of ladies,' Lindsay said.
When they called at Gibraltar to re-coal, Jack accompanied Lindsay and the others for a tour of the fortifications, asked many questions and took notes of the answers. He nearly missed the ship as the Grand Harbour fortifications in Malta engrossed him, ignored a squall as they neared Egypt and stood aside while his peers rushed ashore in Alexandria to test out their theories about the delights and souks of Egypt.
'Oh do come along Ensign Lindsay. I have heard so much about these romantic Oriental bazaars, and I need a chaperone, father says.'
As Lindsay tipped his straw hat and rushed to obey Lucinda, Jack hefted his single trunk over his shoulder and negotiated the gang plank.
'Is he a pederast I wonder?' Simpson asked in a shocked whisper.
'I imagine that might be the case,' Lindsay replied.
A pederast! Jack shuddered. One hint of homosexuality will blight my career and ruin my reputation for all time. Whatever acts of courage I perform, however good a soldier I am, will not matter if they think I am guilty of that most unspeakable of all sins. I must try to talk to Lucinda at least. There will be an opportunity when we travel along the canal.
Jack followed the others into an open boat that someone may have cleaned in the previous year. He watched clamorous boatmen attaching the tow, wiped sweat from his forehead and mustered a smile for Lucinda and dragged his brain for something to say. 'Did you have success at the bazaar, Miss Harcourt?'
'Oh we bought the most wonderful things,' Lucinda sat close. Jack flinched at the touch of her hand on his arm. 'A carving of a sphinx that is three thousand years old,' she displayed her treasure for Jack's education.
Windrush (Jack Windrush Book 1) Page 4