by Deryn Lake
And now they were encamped on their way to join the force of Jelacic, the Ban — or leader — of Croatia, wherever that force might be. For there had been no time or opportunity to communicate with other recalled regiments and each detachment was heading for the Austrian frontier on its own initiative, harassed as it went by bands of Hungarian troops.
And thinking about these hunting packs made John Joseph wake thoroughly and sit up in his rough camp bed and look across to the other in which Horatia lay asleep. Except that she was not there and the thing that he had taken to be her was her blanket pushed back into a roll.
‘Horry?’ His voice sounded muffled in the taut canvas. ‘Horry, where are you?’
But to call was ridiculous for the tent was small and he would have seen at once if she had been within. He swung out of bed, reaching for his jacket — he had slept in his shirt and trousers in case they were attacked during the night — and pulling his boots on at the same time.
Outside the dawn had turned from pink and was streaking the sky orange over the sleeping encampment, the glow from the wood fires almost the same colour. It matched, too, the hair of the young sentry who came to full salute as the Captain approached.
‘Sir?’
‘Good morning. Have you seen my wife?’
John Joseph spoke in German and the youth answered immediately, ‘Oh yes, Sir. She said she wanted to exercise Lulie and went off with her about half an hour ago.’
John Joseph gave a grim smile. ‘Here we are in the middle of a war and all Horatia can think about is taking the dog for a walk. Which way did she go?’
The sentry pointed east. ‘Towards the dawn. She said it looked exciting.’
‘Good God! She knows there are raiding parties about. Why didn’t you stop her?’
‘Sir, I did warn her it might not be very wise.’
‘I’ll have you on court martial if anything has happened — and the bloody dog as well!’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘I wish I had never given her the wretched thing.’
But he had! Last Christmas just before the regiment had marched out of Vienna for Pesth. It had been in the window of a pet shop — a papillon with a hopefully wagging plumed tail and kind face. He had hidden it in his pocket on Christmas morning and Horry had been told to put her hand in with her eyes closed. She had squealed with delight as the jolly pink tongue had licked her fingers by way of seasonal greeting and the new pet had been named Lulie — short for Lucille — straight away. After that it had gone with them everywhere and during the withdrawal from Pesth it had been tucked firmly under Horatia’s arm.
And now it may well have got her into grave danger. As John Joseph ran to where the horses were tethered, taking one that had already been saddled, he had never been more frightened. He had never experienced such a wild pounding of his heart, nor such a lurching in his stomach.
And that was how love came to the Master of Sutton Place — the man who had of recent years believed himself incapable of such emotion: painfully fast, forced out by the fear that he might never see Horatia alive again.
And it urged him on to wildness. Calling out, ‘If I am not back in ten minutes raise the alarm,’ he galloped out of the camp as if pursued by Hell’s children, shouting, ‘Horatia, where are you?’ in a voice hoarse with emotion. For now he had realized at long last that he was in love, he was abrim with it. Longing to hold his wife closely and tell her the things she had always wanted to hear, and he had been foolish enough not to say.
He prayed fiercely and aloud. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, please let Horatia be safe. Don’t let me lose her now that I have just found her.’
The countryside in which he found himself matched his mood; the soaring mountains the heights of his love, the wooded valley his secret thoughts, the broad river his flowing desire. And it was to cross this river, negotiating a precarious bridge, that he went now, doubting even as he did so. For surely Horatia could not have come this way across such rotting planks? Yet he was heading due east into the morning, as he was told she had done.
The crack of a bullet over his head made him crouch in the saddle but his horse — not his usual mount — shied badly, its feet slipping on the ancient wood. He kicked his heels into its sides, forcing the frightened animal to hurry across to the other bank and into the shelter of some trees. Here he reined in, looking about him cautiously and removing his pistol from its holster. Everything was very quiet and so, in the stillness, he started violently, wheeling round to stare straight down the muzzle of a musket, as a voice behind him said, ‘Put your hands in the air, Captain. I am about to take you prisoner-of-war.’ There, obviously itching to shoot him but not quite daring, stood a red-mantled Magyar renegade, armed with every conceivable kind of weapon — and carrying across his saddle Horatia’s dog leash.
*
‘Algy,’ sighed the Dowager Countess.
‘Yes, my dear?’
‘I feel so worried about my daughters.’
‘Why is that, my dear?’
Anne sighed again, a fraction impatiently. ‘You know why. Annette has lost her baby, Horry is involved in that ghastly war and Ida Anna has done nothing but moon ever since Laura married the Earl.’
Anne still had not forgiven her niece for using Ida Anna’s birthday ball to secure for herself one of the best matches of the season by ensnaring the young Earl of Selborne. And from right beneath Ida Anna’s nose to boot. It simply had not been fair in view of the fact that the birthday girl had come out empty-handed.
‘It’s not right to have so much worry,’ the Countess sighed now. ‘I have had a life of constant anxiety as far as my children are concerned.’
She was obviously in a mood to feel sorry for herself but, as the remark was patently true, Algy lowered his newspaper and prepared to listen.
‘First J.J.’s death and then George’s. Neither affecting dear Frances, who must be tying poor old Harcourt into knots with thirty-six years between them. And now so much worry over the girls.’
Algy cocked his head sympathetically. He still considered himself the luckiest man in the world to have married her, despite her tendency to grumble.
‘I do truly think that if Ida Anna goes on like this she might end up an old maid.’
‘Oh, surely not!’
‘I think it more than likely. Young men are not what they used to be, Algy. So many strange people are around these days. A girl’s choice is very limited. So I suppose I should be thankful that I have got two of them off my hands. Though it is so sad that Horatia married a member of a foreign Army. Oh dear!’ She sighed again.
‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ said Algy, reading her thoughts correctly. ‘I am sure that the Austrian Army wives will be quite safe and that law and order will be restored soon. There is no possibility whatsoever of Horatia’s being in any danger.’
‘I do hope not,’ said the Countess. ‘I really do hope not.’
*
‘What have you done with my wife?’ John Joseph shouted, totally disregarding the fact that he was now surrounded by six villainous-looking members of the opposing Army, one of whom held a knife-point to his throat. ‘Speak up, damn you. Where is Lady Horatia?’
‘Be quiet, Englishman,’ came the answer. ‘We don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You’ve got her dog leash. I saw it myself. What have you done with her?’
There was a burst of laughter.
‘Oh is that your wife? The red-headed one? Well, the Major rather liked her and is questioning her personally.’
The obvious double entendre threw John Joseph into a frenzy and he punched his immediate captor in the stomach, doubling the man up in agony. This was followed by a smashing of flying fists and two Hungarians were knocked senseless before the Captain disappeared beneath a heap of fighting men, blood coming from his mouth and nose.
‘I’ll kill the lot of you if she is harmed,’ he gasped from the floor.
‘Love her then?�
� asked one of them with a laugh.
‘Yes,’ said John Joseph, ‘yes I do, by God. More than I’ve ever loved anybody in my life.’
‘Oh, why did you have to tell me now?’ asked Horatia from the doorway. ‘I had always hoped it would be a more romantic setting than this. Oh, John Joseph, do you really?’
‘I adore you,’ he said — and lost consciousness.
‘I am the happiest woman in the entire world,’ she announced to her astonished captors. ‘Oh, thank you for making it happen — all of you.’
And with that she planted a kiss on the cheek of the most evil-looking soldier of the lot and danced round the room with joy.
‘The English are mad,’ said the Major. ‘All quite mad. But nonetheless it is touching. Lock them up together, Kosser. It is going to be a long war for them.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Horatia firmly. ‘We shall be released in no time, just you wait and see.’
*
‘I can’t bear it,’ said Anne with a sob, dropping the telegram on to the floor.
Algy, coming in from a Walk with Polly and Anthus and smelling of heath and heather and damp, hurried forward to catch her as she fell, half fainting, into a chair. They were in the Great Hall of Sutton Place and outside it was raining, the water lashing on to the stained glass windows and running down in blurred snakes of colour and the dull day throwing pools of gloom into the shadowy corners.
‘Is it very bad news?’ asked Mr Hicks apprehensively.
‘Read it for yourself.’
He stooped and picked up the crumpled paper, smoothing it out and whining very slightly under his breath.
‘Thank God,’ he said, having scanned the contents.
‘Thank God?’
‘That they are captured — and nothing worse. I feared something more serious.’
‘But Algy — dearest Algy — might they not be in danger at the hands of their captors?’
‘I doubt that very much. I should think, my sweetheart, that they are in the safest place of all.’
*
‘No,’ said Horatia, ‘it is app-ell, not app-fell. Try again.’
‘Appfell,’ replied her pupil, a surly-looking Austrian soldier of sixteen.
Horatia sighed. ‘I don’t seem to be making any headway,’ she said to John Joseph in English.
‘No,’ he answered absently, busy at his journal which he was quite determined he would keep until either the war was over or they were released. ‘No, my darling.’
He looked up at her very fondly indeed, his dark blue eyes taking on the warmth that was never far from them these days, for he had never been happier in his life. To him this time in captivity was like heaven on earth. Because although he and Horatia — plus the ever-faithful Lulie — had been brought back to the grim garrison of Carlsburg, in company with several hundred other prisoners-of-war, and despite crowded conditions and poor food, he was with his beloved almost every minute of the day.
Now John Joseph said, still in English, ‘I think it is not so much your teaching as the fact that he is stupid.’
He smiled and nodded his head at the soldier as if he were paying him a compliment and Horatia said, half seriously, ‘You shouldn’t do that — perhaps he understands more than we think.’
‘Appfell,’ said the soldier, and at that both John Joseph and Horatia burst out laughing, joined, after a minute, by the youth himself saying, ‘Good yoke — ya?’
‘Very good joke,’ said Horatia. ‘But I think that is enough for today. You can have another lesson tomorrow.’
Then she smiled, just as she remembered her governess doing in the schoolroom at Strawberry Hill.
‘Don’t be too kind to him,’ said John Joseph. ‘I think half your pupils are in love with you.’
And it was probably true, for this was how the Captain’s wife had organized herself during captivity; by teaching English to her fellow prisoners. She had picked up the German language rather well and — aided by a battered dictionary — found it fairly easy to pass on the basic grammar of her native tongue to German speakers.
‘But if I didn’t teach I would go mad. My darling, this is not the liveliest fortress, is it?’
John Joseph put down his pen. ‘Come here and sit on my lap. No, not you too, Lulie — you stay over there. Has anyone ever told you that you are not only the most beautiful but also the funniest girl in the world? Is there any such thing as a lively fortress?’
She pretended to frown. ‘Well, I don’t know. I have never really made a study of it. Perhaps there are fortresses where music plays from morning till night and people are jolly and laughing.’
‘Well,’ said John Joseph, ‘you are right — there is just one. It is called Fort Frolic and it is hidden in a dark wood in the heart of Bavaria.’
Horatia cuddled on his knee like a little girl and looked up at him.
‘There, every day, they dance and sing and play amusing games. And they dress up in marvellous clothes,’ John Joseph went on.
‘Who are they?’
‘They are people who have been kind and good and tried hard and that is their reward — to go to Fort Frolic and live in the sunshine.’
‘This is a very moralistic tale,’ said Horatia. ‘Are you sure they don’t get bored?’
‘No, they never get bored. They love it. Just like I love being here with you.’
‘But don’t you miss the Army?’
‘Not at all. It is simply a means to an end for me. It saved me from being a pauper but maybe, if I work hard, I can one day resign my commission and take you back to Sutton Place to live.’
‘Would you want that?’
‘No, not really.’ John Joseph’s face took on a grim expression. ‘The place has never done my kinfolk any good, as you well know. But I do not feel these days that the curse has caught me up after all.’ He was smiling again.
‘Because of me?’
He gave her a kiss on the end of her nose. ‘Yes, because of you, my darling. And for another reason too.’
‘And what is that?’
‘I believe that that dream in which I die on the battlefield can never come true. You see — and don’t think me a coward for saying this, because I fear no man — I shall be locked away here until the war is ended. I am safe, Horatia, as are you.’
She flung her arms around his neck. ‘Thank God for it. If I should lose you, my darling, I would lose the whole world.’
John Joseph stood her on her feet and crossed over to the window, Lulie trotting by his side. Through the bars he could see out, across the walls of the garrison, to an autumn landscape sweeping down to the river and across to where the town of Carlsburg gleamed in the brilliant November light. The trees were alive with the glowing colours of Eastern spice: cinnamon, nutmeg, saffron and paprika flamed from every leaf, interspersed with curry and clove. Everywhere nature seemed on fire as the great winter solstice took its first hold upon the land.
‘The world is so beautiful,’ he said, his back turned so that his face was unreadable. ‘I would hate to leave it before I had run my course. But if I do, Horatia —’ He turned to look at her. ‘No, don’t say anything. If I do I want you to make me one promise.’
‘And what is that?’ she said, longing to touch him but afraid to move.
‘You are not to stay alone. I would not like to think of your beauty unloved and uncherished. The role of lonely old woman is not for you.’
‘But how could I love anyone else?’
‘You will if you are meant to. Now stop frowning. Come here and stand beside me and let me tell you a story about the Autocrat of Carlsburg who lived in that tower you can see in the distance.’
He pointed and she went to him and they were in total harmony again on that cold and beautiful autumn afternoon.
*
Christmas in Sutton Place! And everybody, apart from the children, thoroughly miserable. Europe had endured one of the worst years in history; monarchs had been deposed; governments had g
one down; nothing would ever be the same again. Only the British nation seemed to be secure; that is if one turned a blind eye to the political agitators — as Mr Hicks thought of them — called Chartists. They whose roots were in the London Working Men’s Association and the central tradition of British radicalism. And they who called for justice for the working classes and spoke of the rights of freeborn Englishmen.
But their name was not mentioned during the festive season of 1848 as the children crowded around a Christmas tree — an innovation of the Prince Consort’s from Germany — which the Dowager Countess had had raised in the Great Hall. Caroline’s three boys and two little girls picked up their presents eagerly. And Annette’s eldest son, young Archibald, punched his brother George, so eager was he to be first there. But not the presence of all the children in the world — and there were only nine — could have consoled Anne. She could think of nothing but Horatia — and John Joseph of course — in some bitingly cold prison, with little to eat and no presents or fun.
In fact, so sad was she that she had wrapped them little gifts and put them away in a drawer against the day when the dreadful war would be over and they would come home to Sutton Place.
‘Things will be better now that mad King Ferdinand has been deposed and Vienna has fallen to the Imperial Army again,’ said Algernon comfortingly as he carved the turkey.
‘I always felt rather sorry for him,’ answered Caroline. ‘John Joseph wrote that he was very kind and merely simple-minded. No real menace to anybody.’
‘A simple-minded Emperor is always a menace,’ reported Francis Hicks roundly. He had become a very good surgeon and equally confident in his opinions.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Caroline sighed. ‘I wonder what the new one will achieve. After all he is only eighteen and succeeding at a most treacherous time.’