Chapter 3 #2
Richard’s eyebrows rose under the wide-brimmed hat he had finally purchased.
Was this so? Unfortunate. A propensity for gambling was often twinned with other personal failings.
He must keep his eyes open for lapses in discipline.
Perhaps commanding a group of men in the middle of the Atlantic was not so different from doing so in England. Men, after all, were men.
But he said nothing of his thoughts and greeted the lady instead.
“Miss Barrow. How do you do this evening? I was about to walk up along the walls, there to enjoy the scenery before returning to my work. Will you join me? Is your ankle well enough for a short stroll?”
Her eyes flickered down towards her foot, which she rotated an inch or so above the ground. “My ankle is nearly completely better,” she smiled. “I came out with the purpose of taking some air. I should be pleased to walk with you.”
How different her attitude now from his first encounter with the lady, when she could scarcely abide being with him. He far preferred this version of her. Whatever he had done to earn her approbation, he was most pleased for it.
He did not offer his arm to her as they walked, for she seemed the sort of woman not to wish to rely on any man.
Still, he kept his attention on her, should her ankle give her pain and she need the support of his elbow.
They ambled slowly to the steps, there to climb to the top of the walls.
The night patrol soldiers were standing at their guns overlooking the approach to the harbour, scanning the horizon for enemy ships.
Each saluted smartly as Richard walked past; an off-duty officer was an officer, nonetheless, and he was already known to all, even if they were not yet known to him.
He saluted back and offered a friendly smile as well.
He might be in the bad books of some of the other officers, but he need not make enemies of the rank and file.
Further along the wall walk, there was a space where a man and his companion might stand for a while and survey the view without interfering with the soldiers’ duties, and there Richard and Miss Barrow broke their walk, to gaze out over the reef-speckled waters as the sun touched them with the golden tones of approaching sunset.
They stood for a long time in peaceful silence, watching the sun dip closer and closer to the horizon.
Richard suspected he would be completing his letters and forms by lamplight this evening, for he had no inclination to leave this lovely spot. Or his pleasant companion.
After a while, Miss Barrow turned to look at him with her gentle hazel eyes, the last flashes of the setting sun reflecting golden-red in their depths.
From nowhere, Honoria Ingalls’ face appeared in Richard’s thoughts, her crystal blue orbs regarding him as they had on the night of that last ball before her cruel dismissal.
How could he not compare this memory with the living person before him?
Miss Barrow’s eyes, which gazed at him now, were not sapphire blue to match the glorious waters beyond the trees, glowing with aspirations and artfulness.
Rather, they were olive-green and honey all swirled together in an intriguing mix, and held no ambitions of grandeur.
Neither did they flicker at him sidelong, with fluttering lashes.
There was nothing coy or teasing in Miss Barrow’s gaze, nothing calculated or cajoling.
No, she was not one to flirt. She had nothing to gain from him, after all, neither fortune, husband, nor status, and for this he was relieved.
He had no interest in affairs of the heart, for his heart had truly been rent in two by Miss Ingalls’ perfidy.
This was far preferable. He wanted nothing of romance.
But he was not averse to making a friend, and from what he had seen, such would not easily be found among his fellow officers. But Miss Barrow had softened towards him after her injury, and her offer to walk with him now seemed to be based on nothing but hopeful friendship. He was pleased.
At length, he returned to his earlier musings. “You suggested the men have a propensity for gaming. This is not uncommon, but your tone suggests you do not entirely condone the activity.” Why was it so important to him that her opinions coincided with his on this matter?
“Condone?” Her head shook vigorously from side to side, sending tendrils of hair bouncing about her sensible face.
“No, indeed, I do not! I abhor the activity. Of course, the soldiers need their amusements, and if their cards and other games were played merely for entertainment, or even pennies or tokens, I should feel quite differently about it. But these are not friendly games, and fortunes are won and lost at the tables. And all too often, the men who lose are the ones who can least afford it. There are even rumours that they play at Hazard.” She mentioned a game of dice that was prohibited in the Empire.
“The enlisted men are more reasonable; they know they must save something of their earnings for when they finally return home, and often they send much of their pay to wives and families in England.
It is the officers who trouble me. Many are men who bought commissions because they had no other sources of income, but who are losing every ha'penny they earn to their fellows and are going deeply into debt when they cannot pay what they owe. All too often, they have relations who depend upon them for maintenance, and their wagering reduces too many people to penury.”
Richard gazed out over the deepening blue of the ocean.
“Yes.” He nodded. “This accords with my experience as well. I have seen noblemen—earls, viscounts, and barons—lose the entirety of their family’s wealth to the gaming table.
And unable to sell their estates or keep them up, their lands fall destitute and their tenants are thrown into poverty along with their families.
My own brother has been known to spend more than he ought at cards, and only by my father’s strictures does he now abstain.
I pray he stays away from the tables when, at last, he becomes earl and gains control of all his income. ”
Miss Barrow started moving again, and Richard followed her.
Down in the mustering fields, small groups of men were gathering here and there, lingering in the dying light, while others walked with more purpose.
The main work of the day was done, but there was never complete rest for a military encampment when the empire was at war.
“My father refuses to allow gaming to occur within the walls of the fort,” Miss Barrow said after a minute.
“A friendly game for no stakes he would happily abide, but he prohibits wagering and betting. He cannot ban the activity elsewhere, but the men have to travel far to play. It does not make him popular.”
Was this one of the undercurrents Richard had felt simmering against the colonel? It was apparent that he was not universally beloved, but with no discernible cause. Perhaps his refusal to turn a blind eye to disreputable entertainments accounted for a good part of it.
Then a thought came to him. Did the simmering animosity towards the colonel extend to his family as well? He could not help but reflect on the racing horse that had caused Emily’s injury some days before. His jaw clenched, and he forced his tone to remain neutral.
“The colonel’s insistence on proper behaviour makes him a strong leader. I respect him the more for it.”
He thought he detected a quick smile flicker across his companion’s pleasant face.
They strolled in silence for a few moments longer before arriving at the steps that would take them back down to the grounds that occupied the centre of the fortifications.
Once more, Richard stifled the instinct to offer his arm to his companion, and they walked down as equals.
In moments, they had reached the house in the centre of the grounds where the colonel and his family dwelt. The walk had seemed far too short.
“Thank you for your company, Miss Barrow. I hope to continue our conversations soon, should you be willing.” Richard bowed to her as if she were a duchess at a ball.
“As do I, Lieutenant Colonel Fitzwilliam. I shall bid you a good night.” She bobbed another curtsey and disappeared through the doorway to her family’s quarters, leaving Richard feeling at odds with himself and quite unsure why.
Not all the company at the Dockyard were as welcoming as the Barrows.
Whilst, among any large enough group of people, there will be those with whom one finds rapport and those who will rub along less well, there seemed here to be a propensity of the latter, and not nearly as many of the former as Richard might have expected.
He did find some companions with whom he could develop something akin to friendship, but the general attitude towards him seemed to be one of cool antipathy.
There was no insubordination; his juniors obeyed him and followed his commands.
There was no outright rudeness; the men were civil and outwardly polite.
But there was none of the comradeship that Richard had found in his other postings, none of the pleasant chin-wagging after hours or invitations to join the group for a drink at the mess or at the small tavern just outside the walls of the fort.
He was not entirely blameless, he knew, having rejected that first summons to lose his purse at the gaming tables, but there was something deeper going on; it seemed almost inconceivable that so many of the fort’s officers were involved.
No, there seemed a general disinclination to accept him into the ranks.
He was ignored as much as he was acknowledged, and he felt a sort of conspiracy mount up against him.