Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
THE ATTACK
Noise.
Noise tethered him as he floated in the darkness. Were those running steps? The sound of shouting? Numbness and pain warred within him, and he almost succumbed once more to the blackness when something cool upon his brow reached him and pulled him back to the world.
“Richard? Richard? Say something. Open your eyes and say something.” That sounded like Emily’s voice, low and desperate. He struggled to move his eyelids. “Richard? Can you hear me?”
He groaned, which she seemed to take as encouragement.
“He lives!” Her raised voice was meant for others.
It tore through his ears, far too loud, but welcome all the same.
Who was she calling? Darcy? No. That was England.
This was… where was he? Bermuda. Right. Colonel and Mrs Barrow, perhaps?
There were more running footsteps, now from across the open space, and another voice sounded close by—one of the medical officers?
Everything was jumbled in his mind, all tinged with pain and a deep desire to sink back into oblivion.
“Lieutenant Colonel? Fitzwilliam? Can you hear me?” Yes, that was Major Jameson.
Trained as a doctor. Or was it a surgeon?
He could not recall. Regardless, Richard let out another groan, and Major Jameson dribbled some water into his mouth.
“Good, good, sir. Can you open your eyes?” Richard tried and winced, but the major seemed pleased with the effort.
“I’m going to examine your body for breaks. Let me know if anything hurts.”
“Damn it, man.” Richard heard his own voice come from somewhere he could not determine. “Every single part of my body hurts.”
That deep sigh of relief sounded like Emily again. A cool hand brushed over his brow and this time he did open his eyes. Yes, Emily. Her face was tear-stained, and something in him shuddered to think that those tears might be for him.
“Aye, I am alive, if by inches. But this time I saw him. It was Weekes.”
“I saw him too,” Emily replied, “Or, I think it was he. You had forgotten the carved shell hair-pins you bought for your sister, and as I followed you to return them, I saw him push you and turn and run. This time he will see justice.”
“Right now,” Major Jameson growled, “I will see to my patient. If you do not mind, Miss Barrow…” Emily moved out of his field of vision, and the medical man moved back in, whereupon he proceeded to poke and prod at every part of Richard’s body, most of which hurt mightily, and some parts of which were more painful yet.
But at the end of the torture, the major announced that, by some sort of miracle, nothing seemed broken, even if a couple of ribs seemed sorely bruised.
“You will find yourself festooned in a rainbow of shades over the next days and weeks,” he announced at last, “but I foresee no lasting damage. You should recover quite completely on your return journey to England and should arrive quite mended.”
Colonel Barrow’s voice came from somewhere to Richard’s side. “Are you certain it was Weekes?” The question seemed posed at Emily.
“I cannot be certain, Papa. It is dark, and the shape seemed to be him, but I could not swear upon it.”
“I saw him clearly,” Richard stated through gritted teeth.
“But he could claim you imagined this as you fell,” Barrow sighed.
“We do not have enough evidence to subject him to a court martial. Yet. But never mind Weekes. I shall keep him busy and away from you until you sail, Fitzwilliam. He shall not bother you again. You, now, had better see about healing quickly, so England does not think I treat all my officers thus.”
For the remainder of his time at the Dockyard, Richard saw little of Weekes. True to his word, Colonel Barrow kept the major busy far distant from wherever Richard took his leisure, and found some pretext to send him to Fort St Catherine.
Richard spent the first two days of his recovery in bed, by Jameson’s orders.
He wished to object, but at first, even the slightest movement was so painful that he submitted to the command with only token resistance.
Thereafter, he began slowly to return to his accustomed routine, with varying degrees of discomfort.
After a week’s rest, Richard saw his injuries blossom in colour, but begin to fade in the pain they gave him.
Emily, perforce, had not visited him during his convalescence in his chambers, and upon achieving some independence, Richard found himself seeking her out, there to spend as much time as he could before he quit the place at last.
He was hobbling about the fields three days after the fall, Emily at his side.
The ship that was to take Richard back to England had sailed into the great harbour only the day before, laden as always with the seemingly endless supplies coming in from all around the Empire.
The weight on Richard’s heart must surely equal that of the ship’s cargo.
It would remain in port for a short while, but the captain had spoken with Colonel Barrow and had announced that he would set sail again only a week hence.
How precious, then, was this remaining length of time here in Paradise.
“You are quiet,” Emily said as they approached one of the outbuildings to the fortifications, still an incomplete pile of scaffolding and timbers. The climb up the walls was as yet more than Richard’s aching body could manage. “Are you fatigued?”
“I am, but more sore at heart. I never imagined how much I would miss this place. And its inhabitants.” He looked at her, and she turned her head away, a pink stain suffusing her cheeks. “I have been thinking back to our first meeting, so long ago…”
“A year and a half,” she replied, still gazing out over the piles of stone and wood that were all-so-quickly becoming part of the small city around the Dockyard fort. “It seems as if I have known you all my life, and at the same time, like you arrived only yesterday.”
“And then, it was you limping around, and I offering my arm in support. Now you are the strong one. I told you then that I might well require your assistance at some point.”
She turned to look at him, eyes perhaps a bit brighter than normal, damp with emotion. “You have been my support in ways you can never imagine.”
Was she talking about her confession in Hamilton? Richard was about to ask when he heard somebody call him from across the field of timber and bricks.
“Oy, there, sir!” It was one of the sailors, most likely from the newly arrived ship. The man looked somewhat familiar.
Richard stopped and waited for the man to approach. “Yer the one I talked to last year,” the sailor said. “About the extra supplies.”
Extra supplies… Richard screwed his brow, trying to recall.
“Yes, of course. I remember that now. Did you ever find who ordered them? We put them in one of the storage sheds, and that was the last I heard. But I am departing this place and am no longer at my duties. I shall see you aboard the ship, however, and will gladly drink an ale with you then.”
“Much obliged, sir. But I have another problem now. More extras. That man that takes them is not here again, and when we went to the shed, to put them there, the others we brought last year were still there.”
“Which other man?” Emily asked the question, drawing the sailor’s attention.
“In brass, ma’am, but this is business matters, not for you.”
“Everything about this place is for Miss Barrow,” Richard stated. “Still, her question stands. Which other man?”
“Never heard his name, sir, but in major’s stripes, with… Oh, I see him yonder. I shall ask him directly. I look forward to the ale on board, sir.”
And with that, the sailor turned and strode off. Richard followed his trajectory and growled.
“Weekes? Is he returned from St Catherine? Blast him. And what was he doing with the extra supplies?”
Emily tutted. “I suppose he knows all the goings-on here. He is secretary to the colonel, after all. He must have some orders from someone. Here, let us sit in the sun for a moment. Your leg looks like it pains you.”
“It does,” Richard admitted. “A clever woman once told me that inactivity is worse for healing a limb than motion, but a moment to sit will not go amiss. Still, seeing Weekes back does not gladden my heart. He is the one thing here that I will not be sad to leave.”
All too soon the fateful day came. His trunks had been packed and secured on the ship which would leave with the tide the following day, and Richard had taken leave of all his acquaintances in Bermuda.
Only his batman would travel with him; of the rest, he would most likely never see them again.
This was a normal part of his life as a soldier, and he had formed his friendships knowing they were temporary.
But there was one person from whom a permanent separation tore unhappily at his heart.
Saying goodbye to Emily was the hardest thing Richard had ever done.
Even the promise of a correspondence could not soothe the heartache of leaving his dearest friend.
They had spent this final day together, wandering down to Somerset, for Richard’s injuries were sufficiently healed, and down to the docks themselves, before repairing to the colonel’s quarters for dinner.
It was a sad meal, and afterwards, Richard could not face a long night in his empty room.
When Emily suggested a final stroll, he accepted.
They walked in silence until the sun had dipped below the horizon and the drilling field was disappearing into darkness.
Richard sought Emily’s hand and shook it firmly, as he would with another man.
“Here I must leave you, my friend. I have some final details to oversee and must be ready to report to the ship at first light. We may never see each other again, but I promise to write, and we shall always be friends.”