by V. A. Stuart
The decision made and his emotions under stern control, he crossed to her side. “Charlotte my dearest,” he said, making no move to touch her, “I have to say goodbye to you.”
Charlotte gave no sign that she had heard him. In the street below, the cheering rose to a thunderous crescendo and Alex guessed, without looking down, that this excited outburst heralded the appearance of the queen herself. The queen, regal and gracious, driving in an open carriage, surrounded by her escort of Household Cavalry . . . his heart lifted. It was a sight he had seen before and one which, in the past, had never failed to stir him deeply. But now he did not take the single step that separated him from the window from whence—perhaps for the last time—he might again have witnessed it.
Instead he stood in silence watching Charlotte, seeking to close his heart and mind to her appeal. Her face was turned from him, so that all he could see was her slender body in the graceful green dress and the back of her head, with its shining crown of hair, transformed to flame-bright beauty by the sunlight streaming in through the window. He knew that the exquisite picture she made, framed between the heavy velvet curtains which hung on either side of her, would remain imprinted on his memory for the rest of time . . . although this, too, was a sight he might never see again. She did not speak until the cheering had died to a faint, far-off murmur and then she said, her voice low and devoid of feeling,“You are really going to India, then? You had made up your mind to go before you came here?”
“Yes, I had,” Alex admitted. The spell was broken and he was aware of a strange physical numbness creeping over him. “It is the only course open to me, Charlotte. Indeed, I am fortunate that the East India Company is willing to accept me. But for the fact that my uncle is a member of the Court of Governors and has given a lifetime of service to the Company, my application for an Indian army commission might well have been rejected and—”
Charlotte interrupted him, with a hint of impatience. “If you go, Alex, I cannot wait for you. I . . . oh, the very thought of living in India is abhorrent to me. I could not face it . . . the climate, the hardships, the kind of social life I should be compelled to live out there. And your position, the fact that you . . .” her voice trailed off into silence but the implications of all that she had left unsaid were as plain to him as if she had spoken the words aloud.
She would not like having to be presented, as his wife, to the wives and daughters of the queen’s commissioned officers whom she would meet in Calcutta and Delhi. . . .
Alex flushed wretchedly, the knowledge that, even in India, she might feel ashamed to bear his name striking him with the force of a physical blow. It wrought havoc with his last despairing hopes and he said, with what dignity he could muster, “I understand, Charlotte. I do not expect you to wait or to consider that you are under any obligation to me in the circumstances.”
Her lips parted in a revealing sigh of relief but there was still a suspicion of moisture in her eyes as, turning to face him, she asked, “Is this really the only course open to you? Is there no other, even if you feel compelled to leave England for a time?”
He spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. “I thought of the possibility of selling my sword in Spain or Austria. But I have no contacts, I know of no one who would recommend me.”
“It did not occur to you to ask my father?”
Alex’s colour deepened and he shook his head. “India offers me the opportunity of an honorable career, in the service of my country, without asking for favours. That is what I want.”
“And you will take it,” Charlotte reproached him, “even if it means that we may never see each other again?”
He eyed her somberly, having to steel himself to answer her because even now, he realized, she would not be completely lost to him if he were to change his mind. But she wanted him as he had been, not as he was and that was impossible. The eligible young Hussar officer who had courted her so ardently was dead—as dead as if the fatal duel to which he had challenged Lord Cardigan had been fought and a bullet from a duelling pistol were lodged in his heart. He said, with defensive coldness, “To my infinite regret, Charlotte, I must.”
“Then . . .” Charlotte held out her hand to him. On its palm lay the small pearl and sapphire ring which he had given her when Lord Dunloy had consented to their betrothal. “This is yours, Alex. And there are letters . . . a few I kept, which I will destroy.”
“Please,” Alex begged, “will you not keep the ring? I should like you to have it.”
She looked down at the ring, an odd little smile playing about her lips. “To remind me of you? But I do not wish to remember you, Alex.”
“Charlotte . . .” he began hoarsely but she gestured him to silence. “There is no more to be said.” She placed the ring in his hand and stepped back, out of his reach. Head held high, she went towards the door and Alex gazed after her, his pain a living thing, tearing at the shattered remnants of his control.
Charlotte paused by the door and glanced back at him,“I will tell them to show you out,” she informed him, with a chill politeness that was unbearably hurtful. Her fingers closed about the bell rope and she pulled on it firmly. “I fancy Emmy may wish to bid you farewell. I shall tell her that you are leaving.” Then, as if it were an afterthought, she added tonelessly, “Good-bye, Alex. I wish you well in your new life, even though I cannot share it with you. And I trust that you will find what you seek in India.”
“What I seek?” he echoed dully.
“An honorable career in the service of your country, was it not? And happiness . . . with someone else, since I cannot give it to you.” Her words were deliberately intended to provoke him. Alex’s control snapped and he was beside her, gathering her to him, holding her in his arms.
“Wait, Charlotte, I beseech you! We must not part on such terms, with bitterness between us. I love you . . . believe this, at least, and try to find it in your heart to forgive me. I do only what I am compelled to do, I give you my word.” His mouth found hers and, for a moment, she clung to him in surrender, her lips soft and yielding under his. Then with a breathless, “Let me go, Alex . . .” she averted her face, her body suddenly limp and unresponsive, her arms falling to her sides. He released her, as she had bidden him and she turned to him, in a passionate blaze of anger.
“If you loved me you would not run away like a whipped cur! You would stay in England and vindicate yourself—for my sake, Alex, if not for your own. But you will not!”
“Because I cannot, Charlotte . . . if only I could.”
“It is because you will not,” Charlotte said, as if he had not spoken, “that I can never forgive you.” Her eyes met his, scorn and contempt in their grey-green depths and then were lowered. “Go to India, I do not care! If you were the last man in all the world, I would not marry you now, Alex. Ask Emmy . . . she can see no fault in you. Perhaps she might wait for you, if you asked her to . . . you are still a hero to her, if not to me.” As swiftly as it had flared up, her anger faded and she said sadly, “I could have loved you, if you had let me. But you did not, so it is not my fault.” She gave him no chance to reply. The door closed behind her and Alex was alone, staring dazedly at the small, jewelled talisman in his hand. From the Great Park, muted by distance, came the sound of gunfire as the cannon fired a Royal Salute. He heard it but did not raise his head.
Emmy came to him, as he was preparing to leave. She came running, her thin, earnest little face alight with hope but, at the first glimpse of his expression, her eager smile vanished.
“Oh, Alex, did our plan fail?” She studied him with troubled brown eyes. “Charlotte has told me nothing, save that you are leaving and that you sail on Friday for India.”
“Yes,” Alex confirmed, “I sail on Friday, Emmy.”
“But . . .” she caught sight of the ring in his hand. “Is your engagement broken? Charlotte was upset but I thought, I had hoped . . . Alex, will she not wait for you, after all?”
He shook his head. “
It is my doing, Emmy child, not hers.”
“Your doing? Oh, surely not—” she stopped herself, lest she offend him. “I am so sorry. Perhaps you should not have come.”
“Perhaps I should not.”
“Poor Alex,” she said pityingly, “I am truly sorry.”
He knew that she was and did not resent her pity. Emma O’Shaughnessy was Charlotte’s stepsister, the daughter of Lord Dunloy’s second wife, a charming young Irish widow whom he had married during his term of office in Dublin. She had entered the vice-regal household in order, originally, to act as governess to the three Mowbray girls and the marriage had shocked them almost as much as it had delighted Dublin society when it had first been announced. But Constance O’Shaughnessy was of good family, the widow of a naval captain, and the girls, as well as Phillip, had swiftly succumbed to their new stepmother’s charm. They now accepted her, as they accepted her daughter Emmy, as members of the family, regarding both with a warm, if faintly condescending affection.
Emmy at fourteen was a leggy, coltish child, whose dark colouring and elfin features offered small promise of future good looks. But she possessed considerable charm and a lively intelligence and, for her age and sex, was remarkably well educated. Her desire for learning was insatiable. In an attempt to satisfy it, she read any and every book on which she could lay hands, seeking no guidance save her own avid thirst for knowledge. Throughout the time he had known her, she had been a constant source of astonishment to Alex because of the breadth and nature of her interests and her extraordinarily retentive memory. She cared little for such feminine matters as dress or appearance and had once confided to him that, had it not been for the fact that she had had the misfortune to be born a woman, she would have chosen, of all things, to study medicine.
Her one talent—and the only one recognized by her family—was her ability to ride. Emmy was a startlingly brilliant horsewoman, and, young as she was, could handle any animal they gave her, however wild and intractable. Alex had made her acquaintance when she was eleven, largely as the result of her prowess on horseback, and they had been firm friends ever since . . . a friendship which had led, in due course, to his meeting with Charlotte.
He smiled down at her sadly, remembering. His betrothal to Charlotte had been, for Emmy, the fulfillment of a cherished dream. The child worshiped her beautiful stepsister and the thought that Alex was to marry her had been cause for immense satisfaction on Emmy’s part, since it had been she who had introduced them to each other and not—as many people imagined —Charlotte’s brother Phillip. And it had been Emmy’s idea that he should come here today, she who had prevailed upon Charlotte to receive him and she, too, who had sought and obtained Lord Dunloy’s consent to his visit, Alex thought, feeling the muscles of his throat tighten. Now the dream was over, for Emmy as well as for himself. . . .
“I failed you,” he apologized, with weary contrition. “You did everything in your power to plead my cause, Emmy, and I’m grateful. But it was no use. As you say, perhaps it was a mistake for me to come here. I should have known what Charlotte’s feelings would be.”
“You could not have known,” Emmy offered consolingly. “And you had to take your leave of her, Alex. I am sorry Mamma was not here, she might have been able to plead your cause better than I could.” He was silent and she watched him with pensive gravity. “It has hurt you very much, has it not?” she suggested gently. “It has hurt Charlotte too. Because she loves you—I know she does.”
“But not enough to face life with me in India, apparently. “Alex’s tone was bleak. Emmy cast him an uneasy glance but came at once to her stepsister’s defense.
“It was too drastic a step for her to contemplate, Alex. India is so far away and the news that you were going there must have come as a shock to her, because she did not expect it. Charlotte had hoped that you would demand a fresh hearing of your case, you see. She was certain that, if you did so, you would have your commission restored to you. I endeavored to explain to her that this was not possible but she would not listen to me.”
“You endeavored to explain to her? Emmy child, what do you know of such matters?”
“A little,” Emmy assured him. “I consulted some of my stepfather’s military manuals and read the Articles of War. You were guilty of a breach of Article 60. . . .” As ably as any lawyer, she gave him chapter and verse, quoting Article 60 at some length. “It lays down, does it not, that ‘any officer who shall give, send, convey or promote a challenge to any other officer to fight a duel or who shall upbraid another for refusing a challenge shall be liable to be cashiered.’ You could have no defense, Alex. But Charlotte does not understand that. In time she may come to understand, to realize that you had no alternative. Now she is hurt and disappointed, believing that you could vindicate yourself but you are afraid to try. Later on, perhaps, she may—”
“No!” Alex uttered the single word vehemently. He added, with deep and anguished conviction, “Our parting is final, at her wish, Emmy. Charlotte will never marry me now and whether I go or stay will make no difference.”
“She will never marry you? Are you sure of that?”
“I am quite sure, child.” Alex glanced at the clock on the ornate marble mantelpiece and from it to Emmy’s pale, troubled little face. “The streets should be starting to clear now. I think I had better take my leave, don’t you?” He put his arm around her, as he had done many times in the past, and gave her an affectionate hug. “Do not look so sad, Emmy dear. It is not the end of the world, you know, simply because I am going away.”
“I shall miss you,” Emmy whispered,“I shall miss you so much. Oh, Alex, take care of yourself! I wish you hadn’t to go. . . .” She had not shed a tear until this moment but now, Alex saw with compunction, she was weeping.
“Tears . . .for me, Emmy?” he teased her gently. “Come now, it is not like you to cry. And I am not worth your tears, so let us dry them, shall we? Take my handkerchief, it is larger than yours. Here . . .” he offered it to her, forcing a smile.
“I’m sorry.” Obediently she mopped at her eyes. “I did not mean to cry but I . . . I cannot help it. I hate you to go, Alex.”
Alex took both her hands in his and bent to kiss her cheek.
“Emmy my dear, surely it is I who should be weeping, not you? I am the one who will be lonely—a stranger in an alien land, soon to be forgotten, even by you.”
“I shall never forget you,” Emmy said. She blinked back her tears and faced him bravely. “Alex, I am not beautiful, as Charlotte is and I know how deeply you love her. But I . . . I am not a child any more, I am almost fifteen. If it would be of the smallest comfort to you, if it would ease your loneliness even a little, I would gladly . . . I mean I would do anything, I—” she broke off in sudden shyness, her cheeks flaming.
Alex looked down at her, startled and conscience-stricken, as he recalled Charlotte’s parting words to him. “Ask Emmy, she can see no fault in you,” Charlotte had said, with bitter scorn, “Perhaps she might wait for you . . .you are still a hero to her. . . .” But Emmy was a child, whatever she might claim to be—a trusting and, for all her avid reading of the books in her stepfather’s library, an inexperienced, vulnerable child. Dear heaven, he reproached himself, what had he done in his thoughtless self-pity? He had not taken Charlotte’s taunt seriously but the small face upturned to his was very serious indeed and he wondered in some dismay how, without hurting her feelings, he could prevent her making the avowal she was evidently about to make. He shrank from wounding her pride as his own had been wounded—it was the last thing he wanted to do and yet . . .“Emmy,” he began, helplessly, “you must not concern yourself with my troubles. They’re of no account—”
Before he could say any more or, indeed, think of anything more to say, she interrupted him, still pink with embarrassment, “I’ll wait for you, if Charlotte will not, Alex. I will even marry you when I’m old enough, if you wish. There are not many unattached girls in India, are there?” S
he smiled up at him innocently. “I told you once that I did not intend to marry . . . and I did not. But with you, of course, it would be different. We’ve known each other for a long time and, in any case, it would not be for some years, would it?”
“No,” he managed, “I should not be able to afford to marry for several years, Emmy. But—”
“You can send for me,” Emmy pointed out, “when you have advanced in the East India Company’s service and need a wife to keep house for you and entertain your friends and fellow officers. I believe that I should like to live in India . . . it would be a splendid adventure. And I should like to see the Taj Mahal and Delhi and Fatepur Seekri . . . I have read so much about them. And also Cawnpore, where the 11th were stationed. You would take me to all those places, would you not, so that I could see them for myself?”
How could he destroy so bright a dream, Alex asked himself and stifled a sigh. Time would destroy it, he did not doubt but now he could not take it from her.
“Thank you, Emmy my dear,” he responded, matching her gravity, “This is most generous of you and I shall look forward keenly to the prospect of exploring India with you, in a few years’ time. That is, of course, if you do not change your mind about marrying me. If you should, or if you meet anyone more worthy of you than I am, then you must tell me so at once.”
“Oh, but I should never do that, Alex—you are the only man in whom I am likely to be interested.” Emmy spoke with certainty, her young voice vibrant and warm. Talking excitedly of the future, she accompanied him to the hall and there lifted her cheek for his kiss, quite reconciled to their parting, since now it was not to be forever. “I wish, for your sake, that I were more like Charlotte, Alex,” she said solemnly. “But even though that is not possible, I will be a good wife to you, I promise. Farewell, dearest Alex . . . and do not be lonely. I shall be waiting for you and I shall wait for as long as it is necessary. You may trust me . . . there will be no one else and I shall not fail you.”