by Peter Watt
‘No, he is in the billiard room with Father,’ Alice answered.
‘Good. I will speak with them before they retire,’ Ian said, and brushed past Alice, leaving Peter with her.
He pushed open the door of the billiard room, seeing Sir Archibald and Charles seated with a decanter of port wine between them, and smoking cigars. They looked up at him in the entrance of the door, and Ian could see mixed expressions of shock and confusion.
‘Father, brother,’ Ian said casually, strolling into the smoke-filled room and walking over to the table with the port bottle, pouring himself a glass then stepping back to stare at the two speechless men. ‘As you can see, Dr Campbell and I survived our encounter with the ruffians at the docks,’ he said, sipping from his drink.
‘I do not understand what you are talking about,’ Sir Archibald feigned. ‘What do you mean, survived your encounter?’
‘Charles knows what I mean,’ Ian said, turning to stare at Charles. ‘I doubt you will be seeing the servant Andrews in the near future.’
‘Did you kill him?’ Charles asked.
‘No, he got away, but I suspect that if I report the matter of our encounter, the police will find him. He might have an interesting story to tell when he is faced with the evidence of an attempted murder of a prominent member of London society – if I may call myself that – and a surgeon who works amongst the poor of London’s slums. I doubt that the police would be deterred from getting information about why Andrews should conspire with a third party to have Dr Campbell and myself murdered.’
Ian could see that his explanation had hit a nerve, as both men paled.
‘I do not know what you are talking about,’ Charles scoffed.
‘Well, I think I had better report the matter to the police,’ Ian said, taking a large gulp of the fine fortified wine.
‘That might be a bit hasty,’ Sir Archibald said. ‘Such an incident would only attract unwanted attention from the newspapers. Knowing them as I do, they would attempt to include unwarranted innuendo and scandal into the police investigation. It is good to see that you were not harmed and, I presume, neither was Dr Campbell.’
‘That is correct,’ Ian said, finishing the rest of his drink. ‘And because he was not harmed, I will make a proposition to you both.’
‘What do you propose?’ Charles asked suspiciously.
‘I propose that you allow – even give your blessing to – Dr Campbell to continue to court Alice,’ Ian said.
A short silence fell in the dimly lit room before Charles spoke. ‘Anything to keep any scandal from the newspapers. Dr Campbell will have our blessing to visit with Alice. Anything else?’
Ian wished he could have thought of something else while he had Sir Archibald and Charles over a barrel. He could feel their guilt in the room although he knew they would not admit to conspiring to have he and Peter murdered. Then it came to him.
‘I would like you, Charles, to break off any further contact with a Miss Jane Wilberforce.’
‘You what!’ Charles exploded, coming to his feet. ‘How dare you tell me who I may or may not see.’
‘Maybe your wife, Louise, is not aware of your meetings with Miss Wilberforce,’ Ian said calmly. ‘That should be good enough reason to break it off, before she returns from the continent.’
‘Damn you!’ Charles snarled. ‘I think that is up to Miss Wilberforce to decide, and not you.’
‘Well, that is what I ask,’ Ian shrugged. ‘I think it is better than a police investigation reported by Dr Campbell and myself.’
‘I agree,’ Charles grudgingly replied. ‘I will not have any more contact with Miss Wilberforce.’
‘Good,’ Ian said, placing the empty glass on the billiard table and turning his back on the two angry men, he left.
He found Peter and Alice in a sitting room.
‘Father and Charles have agreed to you and Dr Campbell stepping out together,’ Ian said with a smug smile.
‘Good God, old man!’ Peter exclaimed. ‘Did you hold a pistol to their heads?’
‘Something like that,’ Ian said.
‘Whatever you did, you have earned our gratitude,’ Peter said. ‘I now have the opportunity to request Alice’s hand in marriage from Sir Archibald.’
‘That is another matter,’ Ian cautioned. ‘At least you and my sister have this time together.’
Alice slipped her hand into Peter’s, and Ian could see the happiness in their faces. It was time for himself to seek the company of a woman who had entranced him.
*
War talk continued in the newspapers, the corridors of parliament and in the regimental officers’ mess.
Ian devoted much of his time at the London barracks to managing his company of infantrymen. He was learning as he went, and studiously avoided contact with Private Curry. Ian had befriended Captain Miles Sinclair, whose military experience with the infantry regiment was recognised by all as the most competent of all the officers. Normally, officers left the running of the regiment to their senior non-commissioned officers and in many ways, the role of the officer was as a figurehead. But Miles Sinclair was different and actually involved himself in the welfare, training and leadership of his company. Ian relied on his new friend to teach him how to truly lead a rifle company, and Miles happily acted as his mentor.
On one morning, Ian summoned Herbert to his office.
‘Who are the five best marksmen in your command?’ Ian asked Herbert.
‘My best marksman is Private Curry,’ Herbert answered. ‘He is outstanding.’ He also provided the names of four other of his soldiers, including Private Owen Williams.
‘If . . . when we go to war with the Russians, I want to use our best marksmen in a special detail to act as forward skirmishers for the company,’ Ian said. ‘Five from each platoon.’
‘That will mean the men selected will be undertaking a dangerous mission,’ Herbert replied.
‘War is dangerous,’ Ian reminded. ‘But I see they would be in a position to identify enemy officers, and cause disruption before any attack can be launched. I have discussed the tactic with Captain Sinclair, who is also doing the same thing with his company. Captain Sinclair reminded me that sharpshooters using the Baker rifle were used successfully during the Napoleonic wars.’
‘Private Curry is the best shot in the regiment, and is a colonial,’ Herbert said. ‘I feel that a word of encouragement from you would be appropriate.’
Ian was startled by the suggestion. ‘I may do so, when I feel it should be done,’ he said quickly. It felt as if fate was drawing the two men together, and Ian was not ready for that occasion. The meeting continued for a short time and Ian was pleased to see how dedicated young Herbert was towards the welfare of his men. Ian had observed that a couple of his other platoon commanders did not display the same concern for the soldiers under their command. But Colour Sergeant Leslie had gently guided Herbert in his duties.
When not at the barracks, Ian spent most of his time with Dr Peter Campbell at his club. Peter was now seeing Alice on a regular basis, and summoning the courage to once again approach Charles and Sir Archibald to ask for her hand in marriage.
The months passed. The leaves of autumn had blown away and the chill of winter came upon the British Isles as Christmas approached. Ian had leave and knew where he would go. Christmas was to be celebrated at the country estate, and Ian had sworn to himself that he would share it with the woman he hardly knew, but wanted to.
When Ian arrived at the house a driving, cold rain greeted him. He went inside to be greeted by Peter and Alice.
‘Oh, it will be so wonderful sharing Christmas together,’ Alice said, clapping her hands in delight. ‘Herbert will arrive tomorrow, and the whole family will be gathered together.’
Ian smiled at Alice’s happiness, and glanced at Peter.
‘A brandy, old chap?’ Pe
ter offered and Ian accepted. Peter led him to the sitting room, where he poured them both a drink of the fiery liquid. A log fire was burning in a hearth and Ian was able to shake off the chill of the carriage ride from London.
Ian raised his tumbler. ‘To Christmas, and the company of good friends,’ he said. Peter also raised his brandy glass in response.
‘The talk around the club is that we will be sending our regiments early next year to confront the Tsar’s army,’ Peter said. ‘I presume you have read that our fleet is already in the Bosporus, and that the Ottomans defeated the Russian army at Oltenitza last month. No doubt you and I will be shoulder to shoulder in the fray. I find it ironic that we are allied to the Musulman against a Christian empire. I suppose one could say that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’
‘I hope you are right about seeing combat,’ Ian said. ‘My men are itching to get at the Muscovites.’
‘I fear this war will be the biggest the British army has faced since Waterloo,’ Peter said, warming his back against the log fire with his brandy in hand.
‘My father fought at Waterloo,’ Ian let slip, and felt a moment of panic for disclosing his real identity.
‘I didn’t think Sir Archibald ever served in the army.’ Peter frowned. ‘Do you mean your grandfather, old chap?’
Ian cursed himself for the slip of the tongue, but remembered that he had been briefed that Samuel’s grandfather had also served at Waterloo.
‘Yes, yes,’ Ian hurried to correct. ‘Just an error on my behalf.’ Ian reminded himself that he was an imposter, and such slips could prove to be his undoing. Fortunately, it had been to Peter, and no one else.
‘I am going to formally propose to Alice tonight,’ Peter said.
‘Have you permission from Sir Archibald and Charles?’ Ian asked.
‘You are family, and your approval is all I need,’ Peter said. ‘If necessary, Alice has agreed to defy her father, and marry me regardless.’
‘Well, a second toast to wish you both happiness and good health for now, and into the many years ahead,’ Ian said, once again raising his brandy glass.
‘Thank you, old chap,’ Peter said. ‘Also wish me luck.’
‘I must excuse myself,’ Ian said, emptying the brandy glass. ‘I have an appointment in the village before the light wanes.’
‘It is a bitter day,’ Peter said. ‘Do you think it wise to return to the rain?’
‘I suspect that when we meet the Russians on the battlefield, we will not be able to choose our weather.’
‘You have a point there.’
Ian arranged for a horse to be saddled and mounted when that was done by a bemused stable hand, who considered anyone riding out in that late afternoon to be just a little mad.
Ian leaned into the rain, riding slowly towards the village.
The streets were deserted when Ian hitched his horse outside the tavern, from whence he could hear the sound of laughter and singing.
Ian stepped inside, and the appearance of the officer in his uniform caused many to cease in conversation to stare at him.
‘Publican, drinks for everyone in the bar,’ Ian said and saw the expression of pleasant surprise on the gathering of men and women. There was a rush to the bar, and Ian took the opportunity to cast about for Jane.
Their eyes met across the room, and Jane smiled warmly. Ian strode across to her.
‘It has been a while, but you have always been in my thoughts,’ he said.
‘You have always been in my dreams,’ Jane said. ‘I knew that you would return.’
‘I wish I could have earlier,’ Ian said.
‘You are soaking,’ Jane said. ‘I have a warm fire at my cottage. Should we leave the tavern?’
‘I would like that,’ Ian grinned.
That evening, in front of Jane’s small fire, they made love.
Fourteen
Snow was falling gently outside the cottage as Jane lay in Ian’s arms. The big bed had become the centre of his universe. The grey morning had arrived, and Ian realised that it was almost Christmas.
‘Good morning, my love,’ Jane murmured. ‘The old gods guided you here to me.’
‘What old gods?’ Ian asked with a smile. ‘My heart brought me here, and the spell you cast upon me.’
Jane sat up, drawing the blankets to her chin. The fire had gone out, and a chill filled the room. ‘The ancient gods of Britain, before the Christian missionaries chased them back into the forests to hide.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Ian asked, intrigued by her pagan views.
‘Yes, I do,’ Jane said. ‘It is when I am in the stone circle that I see visions. I saw you before you first came to the village as a faceless presence. I knew from the moment I looked into your eyes that you were not Samuel Forbes, but one who I was destined to meet.’
‘How could you know I was not Samuel, when even Sir Archibald and all the Forbes family accept me as the prodigal son returned?’
‘Because I grew up with Samuel, and he was not like Charles. From when we were young, I knew Charles desired me, but when I once looked into Samuel’s eyes, I could not see that same desire. He was a gentle and loving young man, but I could see his love was not for me. I know you have the physical appearance of Samuel, but when I looked into your eyes, I could see your desire for me, and that is when I knew you must be someone else.’
‘You are the only person in England who knows that I am an imposter, but that was a pact I made with the real Samuel Forbes. We are friends, and what I am doing benefits us both. I have shared my secret with you only because I feel that you should know the real person who shares your bed. Ian Steele is a colonial, and now an officer in the Queen’s army. I have always dreamed of doing it. Sharing my secret seals a pact between us. I suppose I am saying that from the moment I saw you, I knew you would be the one to travel with me on the road of life.’
Jane wrapped her arms around Ian, crushing him to her. He could feel her warm, naked flesh against his own, as if their bodies were fused as one.
‘I would rather die than ever betray you, Ian Steele,’ Jane said softly, her breath against his cheek.
Ian kissed her passionately, feeling his desire transport him to that wonderful world that he knew he could only share with Jane, when a heavy banging on the door shattered the moment.
‘Jane, it is Charles. I know you are in there.’ The raised voice boomed from the other side of the door.
‘Bloody hell!’ Ian cursed, slipping from the bed and grabbing his clothing. ‘What does he want?’ Ian quickly dressed in his shirt and trousers, while Jane began to dress at the side of the bed. It was Ian who opened the door when Jane was finished dressing, and Charles stormed past him to confront Jane.
‘How dare you share your bed with my brother!’ he snarled.
Ian stepped forward, grabbing Charles’ shoulder. ‘We made a deal that you were not to see Jane again,’ he said angrily. ‘Or have you forgotten?’
Charles turned to him. ‘This woman is my property,’ he said. ‘I pay for the cottage and provide her with the money to survive. Without me, she would be in the poor house. If she chooses you over me, that is where she will find herself.’
Ian glanced at Jane who was staring at the floor, and knew what Charles was saying was true.
‘Jane will come with me to London,’ Ian retorted. ‘I will look after her.’
‘You!’ Charles snorted. ‘You will support Jane on a captain’s pay?’
Ian glanced at Jane and could see tears welling in her eyes. ‘I cannot go to London,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ Ian asked in his surprise.
‘I have seen the dreams of you soon to be in a world of fire, ice and blood,’ she replied. ‘I know you may think I am foolish with my beliefs about the old gods, but they have not been wrong before. There is one other who ho
lds me to this village who I cannot tell you about. One who is also my kindred spirit.’
Ian wanted to say she was merely being superstitious, but something made him feel that the woman standing before him was very different to any other person he had ever known.
‘We could still be together in London,’ Ian said, and she shook her head.
‘It would only be for a short time, and then you will be out of my life in a dangerous place,’ she said. ‘I must remain in the village where I was born. I do not expect you to understand.’
Ian turned to Charles, seeing the triumphant expression on his face. Confusion dominated Ian’s thoughts.
‘Dr Campbell and Alice are wondering where you are,’ Charles said. ‘It might be time for you to return to the manor.’
Ian looked back at Jane, who stood alone in her despair. Without a word further, Ian scooped up his cape, leaving the cottage to ride back to the Forbes manor in the light fall of snow drifting in the grey skies. This was the worst Christmas he could ever remember, and he suddenly felt a longing for the Christmas days spent in the baking heat of his home in New South Wales with his mother and father.
As he rode along the laneway of leafless trees, the snow concealed the rage in his face. He reached the manor and shook off the snow in the foyer of the house. His cape was taken by a servant and Ian knew where the liquor could be found. The sound of a woman wailing came from one of the rooms upstairs. He was met by a grim-faced Dr Peter Campbell.
‘Is that Alice I hear?’ Ian asked.
‘It is,’ Peter replied. ‘I formally proposed and Alice accepted. Then I went to Sir Archibald, who outright refused to give away Alice’s hand in marriage. He went one step further by demanding that I leave the estate before the sun goes down. Old chap, what in hell is going on?’
‘Sir Archibald and Charles decided to renege on the deal I made with them just after the attempt on our lives,’ Ian said, the rage gathering force. ‘It is about time I confronted both of them.’
‘Well, you have your chance with Charles, as he has just arrived here,’ Peter said, gazing out a window to the courtyard below. A carriage had arrived and he saw Charles alight.