Sword of Empire

by Christopher Nicole

  Miss Smythe, having regained her balance, was slowly ascending the steps to street level. She allowed her gaze to wander over the expectant faces, a polite, impersonal smile fixed to her lips. Her eyes were somewhat glazed, and it was evident that the spectators were all just a blur to her. But then they reached Richard, and seemed to flicker. She looked at him again, and smiled.

  He wanted to throw his hat into the air for joy.

  ‘By God!’ Albert Forsythe remarked. ‘She likes the cut of your jib, my friend.’

  ‘Yes,’ Richard breathed. ‘Oh, yes.’

  He watched the young woman being escorted towards a waiting phaeton, above which a huge parasol nodded.

  ‘Seems a pity you’re off on campaign,’ Albert observed, slyly.

  Richard glanced at him. ‘That won’t be for months yet. Even if Hastings remembers my name.’

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