Chapter 3
Chapter Three
FRIENDS AND ENEMIES
Over the following days, Richard came upon Miss Barrow on several occasions. At times, he noticed her only from a distance where he could do nothing but nod politely, but at others, he was able to engage her in some light conversation.
The morning following her injury was one such occasion.
He had left his rooms early to take his customary stroll about the perimeter of the fort before breakfast and happened to spy her hobbling across the mustering fields towards the kitchens.
Instinct compelled him to interrupt his exercise and clamber down from the palisades.
At first, her attention seemed entirely upon her steps, but then she raised her head and noticed him.
Even at this distance, she seemed wary, but she raised a hand in greeting, and Richard took this as an invitation to approach.
He was uncertain what, exactly, had made her so cautious of him the previous day, but he had his guesses.
None of them reflected well on the other men at the fort.
His sister once had an unpleasant encounter with a man at a ball and looked askance at strangers for a while after that.
With this in mind, Richard determined not to exacerbate Miss Barrow’s distrust by encroaching where he was not wanted.
Still, a smile and a wave were welcoming, and he walked closer, careful to keep to a respectable distance from her.
Her stance seemed to relax, as if she understood his intentions. She did not smile, but neither was her regard so stern, and he accepted this as the gift it was.
“Lieutenant Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said, bobbing her head in greeting.
“Thank you once more for your assistance yesterday. I now realise how much trouble I would have had without your aid. How are you this morning?” Her expression cleared, and her lips twitched up at the corners, a gesture of cautious friendliness if ever Richard had seen one.
He let his smile answer hers, and he gave her one of his most elegant bows.
“I am well, thank you, enjoying this fine weather before seeking my breakfast and settling into my day’s obligations.
I have finally been tasked with some duties, and I am eager to start.
But I am the one who ought to ask. How are you today?
How is your ankle? Should you be out walking this distance? ”
Miss Barrow stretched out her foot and rotated it before him.
“I am very much improved, as you see. It is more stiff than painful, and I have learned that too much rest can be worse than too little. If I step carefully and do not over-exert myself, my ankle will heal the more quickly for it. This short walk to inquire after some provisions for my mother causes me no distress, and I feel better for being useful. I make a terrible invalid, I fear.”
Richard broadened his grin. “This desire to be of use is a familiar one. It is, after all, why I am here in Bermuda instead of at another post in England. Even the routine forms I have been given to fill in are welcome after so many days of idleness.”
“Then you see how sitting idle is more of a chore than being active, even if only somewhat.”
Her words, simple as they were, resonated deep within him. “I understand you completely.” He paused for a moment and took up a gentle pace beside her as she walked.
She offered no resistance, and by her expression, she seemed not uninterested in his thoughts, so he spoke on.
“Until now, I have been sent to one camp or another quite close to home and never abroad. Indeed, most of my postings have been so proximate to London that I did not need even to reside in the camps. My parent’s townhouse has always been made available to me—indeed, my father has rather commanded that I stay in the family house, for he deems the cot and deprivations of a military bunk too low for his son.
Instead, I have a full house of servants, a comfortable suite of rooms, access to my mother’s fine cook and my cousin’s finer wine cellar, and every comfort I desire.
Such a life is an easy one, but it is not the one I long for.
I need to feel my efforts are of value. I need to feel useful. ”
They had, by now, arrived at the kitchens, for the walk was not a long one, and they stopped at the large open doorway.
Shouts and the sounds of clanging objects emanated from within, as did a wave of warm air and the unmistakable aroma of baking bread.
Miss Barrow turned to look at him as they stood outside, brows slightly furrowed.
Her perusal, so Richard felt, went deeper than what she saw on the surface.
She was staring not at the smart red coat with its gold braid and shiny buttons, past the white cravat and bicorn hat, past his dark eyes and fair hair, and into whatever it was that made him Richard Fitzwilliam.
What did she see? Did she approve? If he were to be stationed here on this island for the foreseeable future, with a necessarily small social circle, he knew he wished for friends, and this lady seemed the sort of person to suit him in this regard.
That her father was the colonel was in itself a good reason to win her friendship, but he found he liked her purely for herself.
He stood a little straighter as she peered at him, before she cast her eyes down at last.
She dropped a brief curtsey, gave him another quiet smile, and bid him a good day. It was enough, for now.
It was two days later when next they spoke.
Richard had, in the interim, taken up his official duties as lieutenant colonel and had laid his plentiful correspondence aside, to be dealt with when time allowed.
Much of the work, thus far at least, had involved learning names and familiarising himself with the routine of the fort, as well as attending far too many meetings and ordering men about in their morning drills.
It was only the start, but he was pleased for it.
Soon enough, he would be leading sorties, supervising some of the construction efforts, helping to manage the massive amount of material coming in and out of the area, and generally being responsible for the men under his command.
For now, however, the day’s work was concluded, and the sun was gilding the western horizon. Some of the men were returning to the mess and their quarters for the evening’s rest, while others were setting off by foot or by skiff to Somerset, some three miles distant.
“Join us in the tavern, Fitzwilliam?” One of the other officers called to him as he strolled past. “There’s good ale, and a rousing game of cards most nights.
” He recognised the man and paused for a moment to recall his name.
Yes—this was Major Simmond, who reported to the other lieutenant colonel at the Dockyard, a taciturn man who kept to his own company.
A pint and a friendly game sounded grand.
It would likewise be a fine thing to befriend some of the other officers, get to know them away from their duties.
Bermuda was a paradise, but it was also something of a prison in that there was no escape from one’s fellow denizens.
Richard opened his mouth to accept the kind invitation when the other man continued.
“We’re always looking for fresh blood and will gladly deal you in if you have the blunt. I know who your father is; surely you have deep enough pockets to join us.”
This was all he needed to hear. This was no friendly welcome, after all.
“I thank you for the invitation, Simmond, but I shall have to decline. I have much to do before the night is out. Enjoy your game.”
He began to move back towards his quarters when the other man called back. “Surely you are not too good for us. Sir.” The title sounded like an insult.
Richard held his exasperation in check and replied, with as much good humour as he could muster.
“By no means, Simmond. I wish you a most pleasant evening, and I do not hold myself above your company. I enjoy a friendly game as much as any man, as well as an ale and some good conversation. But alas, I am not one fond of gaming, and while my father might have deep pockets, I do not. And I really do have a great deal of correspondence to deal with. Please pass along my regrets.”
“That is hardly sporting, Lieutenant Colonel,” the major goaded.
There was little friendly in his tone now.
“We all have letters and matters to bore the eyes. This is time to be with your fellow officers. A quick hand of something will not set you back too far in your work, or your pockets. The men are eager to… to know you better.” His lip curled in a mockery of a smile.
This secured Richard in his initial impressions. He would not set foot near that gaming table.
“Please convey my best wishes,” he replied, “but I have spent enough time at the tables in the past that I know they are not to my particular liking. And I do have a great deal to do while the light holds. Enjoy your evening.”
A hint of a sneer crossed Simmond’s face, but he bobbed his head and continued on his way without another word, leaving Richard staring after him as he walked towards the large gate.
“You will not find favour among the men for that.”
Richard turned towards this new voice. There, standing in the growing shadows just beyond the magazine, stood Miss Barrow. He could not read her expression in the dying light.
“They revel in their games and initiate newcomers by fleecing them at the tables,” she said. “If you wish to become one of their crew, you must be prepared to lose a great deal of money at cards, for the first few games, at least.”