by V. A. Stuart
“It is of vital importance that His Excellency your father should confer with Mustapha Pasha as soon as possible, Yusef,” he urged. “I beg you to persuade him of this.” He did his best to explain, finding his French inadequate and Yusef’s understanding far from certain.
“I think, Commander Hazard,” Selina’s voice suggested quietly, “that if you would permit me to speak to Serfir Pasha on your behalf, I could make clear to him how urgently his presence is required in Ghelenjik.”
Phillip turned, startled and more than a little embarrassed, to find her at his elbow. “I . . . I’d be immensely grateful if you would,” he said, recovering himself quickly.
“Why did you not send for me to do so?” she asked, her eyes reproaching him. “That is what I am here for, is it not?”
“I . . . I’m sorry.” He reddened. “I thought that you would not wish to leave your father. That was my only reason, Selina. You see, I—”
“And was that also the reason why you did not call upon me to extract the bullet from your leg, Commander Hazard? You preferred to torture yourself and to distress poor Einar Erikson by ordering him to remove it, when he has never performed such a service in his life and I have done so many times?” She spoke in the same quiet, controlled voice but Phillip glimpsed a hint of tears in her eyes and once again his conscience troubled him. Had that been his reason, he asked himself and, in all honesty, was forced to admit that it had not. He started to stammer a lame excuse but Selina waved it aside. “My father is not conscious—he does not know whether or not I am with him. His spirit has already gone from here—it is now only his poor, broken body which remains. I shall be within call for as long as it is necessary but this does not debar me from serving you in any way I can.”
“No, I . . . of course not.” Aware that he had hurt her, Phillip made to take her hand but she evaded him. “I will tell Serfir all that you have said to Yusef and bring you his answer,” she informed him with dignity. “And then—since you must return to Ghelenjik tomorrow with your wound far from healed—perhaps you will allow me to dress it for you. I should not like you to lose your leg, Commander Hazard, but you must know that you run the risk of losing it, if infection sets in. The Circassian women have a certain skill with herbs and I have learnt from them, so—”
“Thank you,” Phillip acknowledged, cursing himself for his tactlessness. “I should be very much obliged.”
“Obliged?” Selina echoed. “You need feel under no obligation to me, Commander Hazard. In serving you, I am merely carrying out my father’s wishes.” She gave him a cool little inclination of the head and, turning to Yusef, addressed him briefly in his own language. The young Circassian glanced at Phillip with unconcealed suspicion but finally shrugged and went with Selina to the far end of the cave, where Serfir and his officers still lingered over the remains of their meal. Cochrane, who had listened in some bewilderment to their exchange, looked at his commander as Selina walked away, opened his mouth to ask a question but—warned by Phillip’s expression—wisely left it unasked.
“I think, sir,” he said diplomatically, “that I’ll turn in—if there’s nothing you want me to do.”
“Nothing, thank you, Mr Cochrane,” Phillip returned with restraint. “I trust you’ll sleep well because I imagine—and hope—that we shall make an early start from here in the morning.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Good night.” Cochrane took himself off and, left alone, Phillip sat watching the faces of those grouped round the fire, his gaze resting longest on that of Selina, who was talking earnestly to Serfir. In the reddish glow of the firelight, she looked more than beautiful and as he watched the changing expressions on her mobile face, he was again acutely aware of the attraction she had for him. “Selina is a good and dutiful child,” the Colonel had said last night, he remembered, with a pang. “And . . . she pleases you, does she not? You find her beautiful?” He had been in a strange state last night, half-way between sleeping and waking and running a temperature, too, probably, thanks to the musket ball in his thigh but . . . he expelled his breath in a long-drawn sigh. He had not given the poor old Colonel an answer, he reminded himself; he had neither accepted nor rejected the offer the old man had made him. Admittedly it had been an offer born of desperation, flatteringly couched and yet he could have no doubts as to its sincerity and he owed the Colonel an answer. “Take her, my young friend, so that I may go in peace,” he had pleaded and, a little earlier, he had also pleaded for a Christian marriage for the daughter he loved.
The familiar vision of Mademoiselle Sophie’s face came suddenly, as it had so often come during the past year, to float tantalizingly before his eyes and he felt an aching tightness grip his throat, as it grew, blotting out the group seated round the fire. This time, though, it was not just Mademoiselle Sophie’s face he saw but her whole body—small, slight, in the black robes of widowhood and awkwardly distended by the child she had been carrying when he had seen her in the Cathedral at Odessa. Andrei Narishkin’s child, he thought, the son who had been born to the sound of Odessa’s pealing church bells, as he had ridden down to the Imperial Mole under the escort of his erstwhile jailers two months ago, on his way to the Wrangler’s boat.
“I know my duty,” she had told him, when she had first broken the news of her betrothal to Narishkin, just before the declaration of war had reached the Fleet—how long ago that now seemed! And—Phillip caught his breath—imagining that he heard her say it again. “I know my duty, Phillip . . . do you not know yours?” Well—did he not know it, he asked himself resignedly. Did he not owe a duty—and an answer—to the man who was dying on a couch of piled-up skins a few yards from him?
He rose and strode resolutely across to where the Colonel lay. Erikson, who had been sitting beside the couch, jumped up at once, eyeing him curiously as he bent over the wounded man. “He’s not conscious, sir,” the young Norwegian ventured. “He can’t hear you, he’s too far gone.”
Phillip ignored his warning and, indeed, was scarcely aware of the seaman’s presence. “Colonel Gorak . . .” he spoke softly and insistently. “Colonel, it’s Hazard, sir . . .” he reached for the thin hand which lay, limp and drained of blood, on the skin rug. As it had before, the Colonel’s hand felt cold to his touch and he chafed it between his own two palms, in an instinctive attempt to restore its warmth. “Sir . . . Colonel Gorak, can you hear me?”
The Colonel’s eyes flickered. He did not open them but his lips moved and Phillip leaned closer, straining his ears in order to catch the faintly whispered words. “A . . . Christian marriage . . . Hazard,” he made out and thankfully gave his answer.
“I understand, sir,” he said. “You need have no fear on Selina’s account. I pledge you my word that I will carry out your wishes if I have it in my power and . . .” but it was no use going on. The wounded man had lapsed deeper into unconsciousness and Phillip could not be sure whether he had heard or understood the promise he had endeavoured to make. He straightened up, to see Selina coming towards him, flushed and hostile.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Can you not leave him in peace?”
“There was a—a matter unresolved between us, Selina. I was trying to tell him that I would accept a responsibility he placed upon me last night.” Even to his own ears, his explanation sounded unconvincing and Selina treated it with the scorn it merited.
“If the matter concerns me,” she said bitterly, thrusting past him to kneel beside the Colonel’s couch, “Your assurance comes too late, Commander Hazard. Whatever my father may have said to you last night, I do not expect you to assume any responsibility for me.” She rose and turned to face him and her voice was cold as she added, “Please leave us now. I will come to dress your leg as soon as I can. And, in case you should be anxious, Serfir has agreed to change the route he will take tomorrow, as you requested.”
Phillip accepted his dismissal, thanked her quietly and returned to his own couch. She came to him, ten minutes later, accompanied by Eri
kson, who set down a bowl of warm water and some bandages and, under her instruction, removed the soiled dressing from his thigh. Selina examined the wound with impersonal care. “It’s clean,” she informed him. “And is beginning to heal but I am bound to tell you that you will be running a grave risk, if you insist on making the journey to Ghelenjik tomorrow.”
“I have to take that risk, Selina. I—”
“It is for you to decide, Commander Hazard.” Her tone was still cold and she studiously avoided his gaze. “But you would be well advised to postpone your departure for another twenty-four hours.”
“I dare not. If I were to do so, Serfir might well embark on another ambush or—”
“Very well,” she conceded indifferently. “Then I will apply some healing herbs and a very firm dressing. It may cause you some discomfort but it will protect the wound. Einar, if you please—would you hold that bowl for me?”
Erikson obediently lifted the bowl. He, too, avoided Phillip’s eye and, when he spoke, it was to Selina. Between them, however, they made an excellent job of his dressing and Erikson responded to his thanks with a faintly cynical, “It was you, sir, who introduced me to the role of surgeon’s mate. I am pleased that you think I perform it better than I did.” He stood up, carefully balancing the bowl in his two big hands. “Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes, thank you, Erikson. Be prepared to leave in the morning—you and Gunner’s Mate Thompson—with Mr Cochrane and myself. Perhaps you’d be good enough to pass the word to Thompson.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Erikson acknowledged. “Just one thing sir . . .” his blue eyes met Phillip’s with the light of defiance in them. “And Miss Selina, sir? Will she be coming with us?”
“I trust so,” Phillip answered. “It is my intention to invite her to accompany us.” He glanced at Selina, who was kneeling, with downcast head, making the final adjustments to his bandage, apparently deaf to their exchange. “I’ll have a word with her. Right, Erikson—carry on. Perhaps you’d be good enough to keep an eye on the Colonel after you’ve spoken to Thompson.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Erikson hesitated. He seemed as if he were about to say more but the habit of discipline reasserted itself and he turned on his heel and went obediently to join Thompson.
“Selina,” Phillip said. “Can you spare me a few minutes? I want to talk to you.” She rose then, her cheeks a trifle flushed and asked guardedly, “What do you wish to say to me, Commander Hazard?”
“Please—won’t you sit down?” Phillip gestured to the end of the couch, swinging his legs to the ground in order to make room for her. “My name is Phillip, you know. I wish you’d use it.” She made no response to his second invitation but seated herself, with obvious reluctance, on the couch beside him. He sighed. “There are matters we must discuss and settle, if we can, because—”
“The matter of your responsibility for me?” Selina put in, an edge to her voice. “I thought we had settled that question. Whatever my father asked of you, I absolve you of responsibility. And as to whether I accompany you to Ghelenjik tomorrow, that must depend on my father. If he is still . . . that is, if he still has need of me and if you cannot postpone your departure—even for your own sake—then I must remain here.”
“I wish I could postpone my departure,” Phillip said apologetically. “But in the circumstances I dare not.”
“I understand your reasons,” she assured him, her tone more conciliatory. “And you must understand why I cannot leave my father so long as he is alive. Even if he does not know me, I must stay with him.” Tears shone in her eyes but she wiped them away with the back of her hand, in an oddly childish gesture that was somehow a measure of the grief she was trying so valiantly to hide. “No man can live for long with such wounds as my poor father has suffered. For his sake, I pray that God will put an end to—to his suffering soon.”
He knew that what she said was true and did not argue. Instead he said gently, “We shall be at Ghelenjik for several days—perhaps for a week or more, I don’t know—and there will be two other British ships, in addition to my own. If you are unable to come with us tomorrow, I want you to follow us, Selina. I can leave one of my men to look after you. He’ll escort you to Ghelenjik when—when the time comes.”
He had half-expected that she would refuse his request but she inclined her head in agreement. “Yes, I will go to Ghelenjik,” she answered. “But there is no need to leave anyone behind to look after me, Commander Hazard. I shall be quite safe here.”
No doubt she would be safe enough, Phillip thought, but she would also be alone when her prayer was answered and her father found release from his sufferings . . . she would need someone of her own faith and kind to help her then. He said so, as kindly as he could and saw the bright gleam of tears again in her eyes.
“Very well,” she consented. “Will you leave Einar, please— Einar Erikson? He is a mountain man, he gets on well with these people. They like and trust him and so do I . . . and he has been very good to my father. Also I do not think he will mind staying for a little longer—he told me he felt at home here.”
Erikson was the obvious choice, of course, and Phillip nodded his assent. “I’ll tell him.”
“Do not worry, I will tell him. But, Commander Hazard”— Selina’s dark eyes met his gravely, still with a hint of tears in their depths—“you must please understand that I—”
“Phillip,” he reminded her. “Could we not dispense with formality, Selina?”
She ignored the interruption, intent on what she had to say to him. “I have told you that you are absolved of responsibility for me.”
“Yes, you told me. But I—”
“But you are trying to assume it.”
“I gave my word to your father. I can’t break that promise simply because you—because I may have hurt your feelings without intending to.”
“You did not hurt me,” she returned, with contradictory bitterness. “My poor Papa should never have tried to place so great a burden on you. I sensed your reluctance to accede to his request last night but he, poor soul, was too far gone to understand.”
“I was reluctant only because I doubted my ability to carry out your father’s wishes,” Phillip defended. “I am not a free agent. I was afraid to make a promise I might not be able to keep . . . I’m a naval officer, Selina, and in command of one of Her Majesty’s ships. I might receive orders when I reach Ghelenjik which would take me away from here for the duration of the war and which—”
“Yet you made my father a promise this evening,” Selina persisted. “Or you endeavoured to . . . and it was the same promise, was it not?”
Phillip sighed. It was proving much more difficult to explain his decision to her than he had anticipated it would be—perhaps because he had not made adequate allowance for her courage and her proud spirit. “Yes,” he said, forcing himself not to sound impatient. “I endeavoured to set your father’s mind at rest on your account because I—”
“Because you pitied him!” she accused. “For no other rea-son—because nothing has changed, has it? You are still not a—what did you call it? A free agent, are you? You are still an officer in the English Navy with a ship to command and a war to fight—and you must still obey your orders, you must go wherever your Admiral sends you. You cannot be responsible for me, for my future, can you?”
“In certain circumstances I can,” Phillip asserted. “I wasn’t thinking clearly last night but today I have had second thoughts. Please listen to me, Selina, because there is a way and I am in your father’s debt, don’t you understand?”
“Oh, I understand,” she assured him. “And I am not ungrateful but”—her voice softened “Commander Hazard, you are, I believe, a good and honourable man and I respect you for what you are trying to do to ease my father’s passing and give him peace of mind. You have discharged your debt to him—if you owe him one. But I—I do not want your pity and I will accept no sacrifices from you either. I am not a defenceless child, as s
urely you must have seen for yourself? I am not like your gentle English women . . . I can ride and shoot as well as any man and I do not need you to protect me.” She was speaking the truth, Phillip was forced to concede, facing reality with pride and dignity but . . . “Selina, please,” he begged, “Will you not listen to me?”
Selina waved him fiercely to silence. “You cannot change my mind. I have made arrangements for my own future. That is why I shall go to Ghelenjik, Commander Hazard—not in order to follow you, so that I may be sent to some place of safety in one of your ships or bundled off to my uncle, who does not want me. But because—”
“What arrangements have you made, Selina?” Phillip asked, in swift alarm. “For God’s sake, what arrangements?”
“To stay in Circassia.” Selina’s dark eyes met his without flinching, bright with the same light of defiance that he had seen in Erikson’s a little while ago. “These are my people and they, too, have a war to fight . . . a cruel and bitter war, against an enemy they—and I—have more reason to hate than you English have. I have been here for nearly two years and, had my father lived, I should have stayed, I should have gone on fighting with them. And I—”
“But you cannot stay! Your father—”
“My father is dying,” she pointed out. “And Serfir has promised me his protection. Yusef also, of course.” Her voice was flat but her eyes did not waver or lose their defiant gleam. “Yusef offered for my hand, some time ago, and my father refused. So did Serfir but . . . circumstances have changed now, have they not?”
Phillip stared at her in shocked disbelief. “I do not want my Christian child in a Moslem harem,” the old Colonel had said and he had added, “But whilst she goes unveiled and accompanies me on these forays of theirs, there is always a terrible fear in my heart that, perhaps, she might let her eyes stray to one of them . . . as theirs stray constantly to her. They treat her with fitting respect, none would lay a hand on her but . . .”