The Queen's Colonial

by Peter Watt

  ‘But, according to your father’s wishes, if he does not survive his ten years, his share is forfeit to the estate. As Alice relies on our generosity with little share left to her, that would mean that your true sons, Herbert and I, inherit the family estates.’

  Archibald rose from his chair and walked over to his son, placing both hands on his shoulders.

  ‘You are my firstborn, and the treachery of your mother cannot be rewarded. Herbert has expressed his desire for a career in the army as a commissioned officer and has completed his training as a gentleman cadet. Only you are worthy to be the lord of the estates.’

  ‘Thank you, Father,’ Charles said with genuine gratitude in his reply. ‘I will always be by your side.’

  ‘I know,’ Archibald sighed. ‘Until the time the good Lord summons me to His breast.’

  ‘What should we do?’ Charles asked.

  ‘I arrange for his commission into the regiment, and we wait to see what may occur after that. If the situation does not go the way we like, then we make other plans to ensure your half-brother does not serve out his time.’

  Charles knew that his father meant only one thing. The family had always had a reputation for being ruthless in business and life. They had taken their place in English society as one of the wealthiest and most influential families of their time and nothing would stand in the way of Charles to go even further in the ranks of the rich and powerful of the Empire.

  *

  A single bed, washbasin and dank stone walls. This was Molly’s world in the female prison. The police had found the doctor’s bag, and she was arrested for being in possession of stolen property.

  Arrested and conveyed to prison, Molly knew that she would be found guilty. She had often heard stories in the slums that transportation to the colonies was as good as being sent to the moon. But she also had heard that the colonies no longer wanted convicts, which was only a partial relief. To be sent to the other side of the world had terrified her. However, a sentence in an English prison was of little consolation. All she could ponder in the silence of her cell was the fate of her two brothers and the Irishman she had found attractive.

  Molly could hear the hob-nailed boots of the prison warder come down the corridor, and stop outside her cell. The door clanked open, and she heard her name called. ‘Prisoner Molly Williams. You are to come with me.’

  Molly was shackled and led down the corridor. She knew it was to appear before the judge and hear her sentence.

  An hour later, Molly was escorted back to her cell with the words, ‘Sentenced to five years hard labour’ ringing in her ears. When the heavy door clanked behind her, Molly slumped on the small bed. She felt numb. She would be twenty-three years old when her prison sentence was up. All she could do was pray that her beloved brothers had escaped the clutches of the law. But would she ever see them – or the Irishman – again?

  *

  Under the English summer sun, Conan, Edwin and Owen drilled relentlessly on the open parade ground with thirty other recruits. The uniforms they wore were uncomfortable, and the boots barely fit. The bark of Colour Sergeant Leslie drilling them no longer had the softness of his Irish brogue. He was as English as the other senior NCOs, and officers of the infantry regiment. Conan questioned the wisdom of his choice to join the British army. Foot drill, never-ending cleaning of brass, belts and boots, standing to attention and the monotony of poor rations was the only life the three now knew. Even the shilling a day they were supposed to be paid dwindled when they were forced to pay for their rations and uniform. But they were in the company of men like themselves. Scum of the earth the great general Wellington once called his British troops. But it was the scum of society that built the British Empire in the far-flung places around the globe.

  The training day came to an end and the three men lined up for their issue of rations at the other ranks’ mess.

  ‘I heard that Molly got caught and was sentenced to five years,’ Edwin said. ‘One of the other privates from Wales read it in the paper.’

  ‘Bloody damnation!’ Owen swore. ‘We left her to the mercy of the peelers. We ran away like cowards.’

  ‘There was nothing we could do,’ Conan growled. ‘I am sorry for your sister, but it could have been worse.’

  ‘Worse!’ Owen exclaimed.

  ‘Your sister could have been transported to Botany Bay if the Brits still did that, and she would have been fortunate to have even got there. You don’t know what the prison ships are like that send out prisoners. I know, because my father was transported, as was my mother. It is a living hell on those ships. The death rate is worse than the prisons in England.’

  Despite his retort on the fortunes of Molly Williams, Conan was haunted by the thought of the young woman languishing in an English prison. Maybe if they were to be given leave, he might be able to visit her. That was his only consolation in the tough military world he had signed up to.

  Eight

  Entrée

  Cutlets of Lamb braised with Soubise sauce

  Salmi of young partridges a l’Espagnole

  Vol au Vent of Salt Fish a la maitre d’hotel

  Casserole of Rice with Puree of Game

  Saute of Fillets of Fowl a la Lucullus, with Truffles

  Fillets of Young Rabbits a la Orlies, white sharp sauce

  Second Course Roasts

  Three Partridges

  Three Woodcocks

  Six Entremets

  Spinach with Consomme, garnished with Fried Bread

  Whole Truffles with Champaign

  Lobster Salad a la Italienne

  Jelly of Marasquino

  Buisson of Gateau a la Polonaise

  Alice of Apples with Apricot

  Two Removes of Roast

  Biscuit a la Crème

  Fondus

  Ian gazed in amazement at the menu in front of him on the long, highly polished dining table lit by a row of flickering candles in silver holders. Either side of the table sat the twenty, well-dressed guests of the Forbes family. At the head of the table sat Sir Archibald Forbes and to his right, Charles. Ian was aware that both men were watching him with an intense scrutiny. Ian glanced down at the menu and wondered what half the dishes were. He knew from his training with Sir George in Australia that he must never let on any ignorance of what the rich and powerful took for granted. At least he identified the meal would consist of rabbits and fish – both he knew well from growing up in the colonies.

  The dinner had been arranged by Alice to welcome her brother home to England, and as such, Ian had not been in her company for any long periods of time as she fussed with the catering and guest lists.

  Instead, Ian had been shadowed by his young brother, Herbert, who was obviously smitten by his older brother’s adventures in the colonies. The few letters that did find their way back to England from Samuel had described how different the colonies of New Zealand and New South Wales were compared to England. Samuel had only mentioned in passing his experience fighting in New Zealand, but Herbert’s hero worship translated his older brother’s few words into a heroic stand against hordes of savage natives. Ian had sidestepped any descriptions of the skirmish by saying it was not something to talk about amongst men. Herbert had confided that he wished to be commissioned into his grandfather’s regiment so that he could serve alongside Ian.

  At least Ian had company when they took a ride on fine Forbes horses in Hyde Park and went for walks through the heart of the great city. At one stage, Ian strayed to the edge of the slums but Herbert plucked at his coat to warn him they should avoid going in. He explained how his sister’s friend, Dr Peter Campbell had been robbed at knifepoint by three brutish men when he was providing medical assistance to the impoverished people of the slums.

  Ian listened to him and that day purchased a copy of Mr Charles Dickens’ just-released novel, Ble
ak House. The gift delighted Alice. Reading was a shared passion of Samuel and Alice.

  Now he sat opposite Alice and a gentleman she introduced as Dr Peter Campbell. The two men had shaken hands prior to moving into the dining room cluttered with servants and guests. It was obvious that his sister had only eyes for the tall, good-looking Canadian surgeon.

  A servant leaned over Ian’s shoulder and poured him an expensive Spanish red wine. Ian raised his glass to Alice and Peter. ‘To your health, and my thanks for this truly magnificent feast,’ he said quietly. Alice smiled, and Peter raised his wine glass.

  ‘To you, old chap,’ he said. ‘Your return has brought light into Alice’s life once again.’

  The evening wore on with trivial chatter and gossip between the guests. The ladies wore their finest jewellery that sparkled in the candlelight, whilst the gentlemen the most expensive of suits. Ian was courteous to the gentleman on his right, and the matron on his left. He was glad that both preferred to chatter to those on their left and right leaving him to exchange the occasional word across the table to Peter and Alice. Ian learned that Peter had travelled extensively in Europe, spoke French fluently, and had studied in England at the Royal College of Surgeons. He had a moderately good income from his family in Canada, and was considered a colonial by the English. Ian thought that ironic as he was also being referred to in whispers as the ‘colonial Forbes’. The rather sneering term from the British did not concern him. He was, after all, a patriotic member of the British Empire, regardless of their looking down upon those they called colonials. At least in the company of Peter, he felt more at home.

  When the dinner was over, the gentlemen retired for port and cigars.

  In the smoke-filled room, Peter struck up a conversation with Ian.

  ‘I have been informed by your sister that you intend to take a commission in your grandfather’s regiment,’ he said.

  ‘That has always been my ambition,’ Ian replied. ‘I hope to take up my commission within a fortnight.’

  ‘From what I have read in the Times and from my travels in France, I believe that you may find yourself seeing action before you know it,’ Peter said, puffing on his large cigar. ‘The Muscovites have issued an ultimatum to the Ottomans and there is a rumour that the British and French fleets will be steaming to the Dardanelles very soon. It is the goddamn Papist Froggies stirring up all the trouble in that part of the world. Rather ironic, when you think that we were fighting the Napoleonic French a few years ago, and then the Russians were our allies.’

  ‘What do you mean, the French are stirring up this possible war?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Some French monks were killed in Bethlehem fighting against Orthodox monks. The Papist Froggies don’t get on with the Orthodox Church of the Russians. Needless to say, Tsar Nicholas blamed the Turks for not protecting the French monks. It appears that the Russians are attempting to expand their empire, and that cannot happen. I suspect that the Tsar will not back down on his move to declare war against the Ottoman Empire.’

  ‘I am sure you are right in what you are saying,’ Ian said. ‘It seems I may be joining the regiment at the right time.’

  ‘If we go to war with the Russians, I intend to volunteer my services as an army surgeon,’ Peter said. ‘War with the Russians will not be like any of the wars the British Empire has fought since Waterloo. We will be opposed by a European army of considerable military strength. I daresay casualties will be high, and my services required.’

  ‘Hopefully the dead and wounded will be on the other side,’ Ian said, taking a sip of his port. The news of a possible war had him in turmoil. The very reason he had taken on the risky impersonation of Samuel Forbes was to join the British army and serve as an officer. He had expected he might see service fighting the Queen’s enemies armed with spears and antiquated muskets. Fighting the Russian army was another thing. He knew enough from his reading of military history the fearsome reputation of the Cossack cavalry men and the great size of their army.

  ‘Alice has informed me that you, she and Herbert will be visiting your family’s estate in Kent for a week before you join the regiment,’ Peter said.

  ‘Yes, I am looking forward to seeing the place that holds so many fond memories for me,’ Ian lied.

  ‘I hope to join you for a couple of days,’ Peter said. ‘It will be my first visit to the Forbes manor. I am sure you will be able to be my guide around the estate. I believe there will even be an opportunity to do a bit of hunting and fishing.’

  ‘I will look forward to you joining us,’ Ian said. ‘My sister speaks very fondly of you.’

  ‘I must say, old chap, it has been a pleasure meeting you. I need as many allies as I can gather within the folds of the Forbes family. Your father tends to see me as an upstart, colonial adventurer intent on marrying into their wealth. I can assure you that is not so. I would be happy just being with Alice in a log cabin in the backwoods of my country. I have no intentions on her inheritance.’

  ‘That is good to hear,’ Ian said. ‘I sense that you are truly a gentleman of good character.’

  Peter extended his hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said gripping Ian’s hand. ‘Your friendship has great meaning and importance to me. Your brother, Charles and Sir Archibald are not so warm.’

  ‘I can identify with that,’ Ian said with a grin, releasing the Canadian’s firm grip. ‘Neither have ever liked me very much.’

  ‘Alice has told me of the animosity shown to you by Charles, and Sir Archibald, but does not know why it should be as such.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Ian lied again. ‘It may be because they perceived me as weak because of my love for book learning and poetry. The family history dictates that only the strong should rule.’

  ‘Well, it is time that I must return to my club,’ Peter said. ‘I will be returning to my practice in the city to see patients. If I get time after that, I will resume my duties amongst the poor.’

  ‘You are a good man, Peter,’ Ian said. ‘I will count you as a friend.’

  Peter left to hail a hansom cab, leaving Ian feeling out of place amongst the guests of Sir Archibald. He quietly departed the room filled with pipe and cigar smoke to enter a hallway, where he saw Peter in a furtive embrace with Alice. Ian felt that he had intruded when Alice looked over Peter’s shoulder to see him standing there.

  Peter exited the building and Alice walked to where Ian stood.

  ‘Dear brother, Peter told me how much he likes you,’ she said, slipping her arm under his own. ‘He has told me how he desires to offer his services as a surgeon in the army if it comes to war with Russia. I would pray that if that terrible situation arises, you would be there to protect him.’

  ‘If war comes, I promise you that I would give my life to protect him.’

  She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I do love you so, dear brother,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘You have grown to be such a handsome and dashing man. I know all of London society ladies will be standing in line to be in your company. I must retire, but tomorrow we will be travelling to Kent. It will be so good to visit all those places you and I knew on the estate and in the village.’

  Ian watched her walk away. Her kiss on his cheek lingered.

  *

  It was an exceptionally hot summer’s day. The clouds of smoke caused by the explosion of gunfire lingered in the still air.

  ‘You soldiers are very fortunate men,’ Colour Sergeant Leslie bellowed, holding a long rifle above his head so that the semi-circle of soldiers could see it. ‘The Queen has been very generous in supplying us the very latest weapon of war. This is the point five-seven-seven calibre Enfield rifled musket. It is the best rifle the army has ever seen, and you will be issued one each for what I believe is a coming war between us and the Ivans. Today, you will be taught how to load and fire the Enfield out here on the range. You will also learn how you will look after it
as you would any woman in your life. But you will also learn that the Enfield is different to women, because it will never let you down.’

  Conan and the Williams brothers stood in the semi-circle, gazing with some interest at the rifle held above the instructor’s head.

  The Irish sergeant lowered the weapon, took a paper cartridge from a leather box on his belt, bit off one end of the cartridge, ramming it down the barrel with a rod slid from under the barrel, dropped a hollow-based, cylindrical lead projectile after the paper cartridge, also ramming it down. He replaced the ram rod under the barrel, cocked the hammer at the side and placed a small copper primer on the nipple above the powder-filled chamber. He slid the rear sight to a hundred yards, brought it to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. The rifle bit back into his shoulder, and a hundred yards away, a piece of wooden square peg splintered from the impact of the Minie bullet. The accuracy impressed the soldiers watching the demonstration. They knew the smooth bore was now replaced with the twisting grooves inside the barrel to ensure the projectile caught in the grooves as the explosion caused it to expand ensuring that the round flew straight and true at high velocity.

  Pleased with himself, Colour Sergeant Leslie returned his attention to his recruits.

  ‘You will now go through the drills of loading, aiming and firing the Enfield.’

  By the end of the day, Private Conan Curry proved to be the fastest at reloading, and most accurate at hitting the target. The Irishman from the colony of New South Wales felt a strange euphoria of finding a home in England and its army. Even if it was amongst the traditional enemies of Ireland. He was able to console himself with the thought that he was not alone. There was a smattering of other Irishmen in the ranks of the regiment – along with Scots and Welsh. Army life was slowly seducing him.

  *

  Ian tried not to show his amazement at the three-storeyed, ivy-covered Forbes mansion at the end of the driveway as they approached in the carriage drawn by four fine horses. Beside him sat Alice with her parasol opened above her head against the bite of the summer sun. In the seat behind them was young Herbert, who looked bored.