CHAPTER FIVE #2
‘If it was I am sure it is long past. No merchant ship would grant him passage if he was likely to spread disease among the crew. No, whatever ailed him has ravaged all it can. I hope that he is able to recover his strength with good food and a healthy English climate. Now, let us put him from our thoughts and consider whether Leece is right in suggesting I employ a trained footman from Bath, and Mrs Newby’s young relative, to “train up”, which makes him sound like a colt for the Epsom races. ’ Louisa smiled.
Major Barkby was like a caged animal. He found the indoor existence, being fussed over by his mother, frustrating in the extreme, but his health meant that he tired very quickly, and even a quiet hack about the country lanes he had known all his life was beyond him for several weeks.
He baulked at the idea of being driven about in the carriage, and even more so when Lady Barkby suggested he might 69like to accompany her on her visits to neighbours.
He quite accurately surmised that he would be presented like some rare specimen, and then stared at, and the conversation would be unbelievably inane, or curious and impertinent.
He did, however, make an exception for Lady Dembleby, the day after his new uniform jacket reached him, the previous one having been so torn and blood-stained as to be unwearable.
When they reached Elliston Court, the door was opened by a slight youth, who looked as though his livery had been made for someone larger, which it had.
His aunt, Mrs Newby, had discovered one of the old footman’s uniforms and said, with some good sense, that lads like William sprouted like weeds at his age, and adjusting the clothes now would mean unnecessary expense later.
William was also not quite sure whether ‘not at home’ applied to his mistress when she was in the garden with her watercolours, and the drawing room was full of decorators and holland covers.
He bowed the visitors into the hall, and hoped that Mr Leece would arrive and rescue him. Thankfully, he did.
‘Good afternoon, my lady, sir. Her ladyship is in the garden, the house being somewhat infested with decorators today. I will ascertain whether she is receiving visitors, if you will be so good as to wait in the morning room.’ He indicated the chamber to their right.
Major Barkby controlled his features. He liked the idea that a house could be ‘infested with decorators’.
Leece left them for no more than two minutes, and returned with instructions to escort the visitors through to the garden, where Lady Dembleby was hurriedly attempting to wipe 70watercolour paint from her fingertips.
Lady Barkby had not been in the gardens of Elliston Court for many years, and stopped so suddenly her son nearly walked into her.
‘Oh, how delightful. I had quite forgot how charming the Court gardens were, to be sure.’
Louisa came forward from where she had been sitting with sketchbook and paints, in the shade where a walk of pleached pear trees opened onto the lawn.
Mrs Goodworth was hastily setting aside her stitchery, and skeins of coloured silk tumbled upon the ground.
A large rug had been placed beside the chairs and table, and upon it Emily was sitting ‘feeding’ grass to a wooden horse on wheels.
She looked up at the new arrivals, unsure, but they were not looking at her, so she continued picking blades of grass.
Louisa was surprised to see the dragoon in uniform, although she ought rather to have been so when she saw him first, in civilian dress, and chastised herself for thinking how very fine he looked now.
She resolutely told herself he was merely looking less convalescent.
‘You find us banished to the garden by all the activity indoors, Lady Barkby, but I assure you I can offer you a chair and refreshment. Indeed, here is Leece with a chair already.’
Leece had not demeaned himself so far as to carry the chair, but had young William bearing one sturdy if outdated side chair from the parlour, and Frederick, the new footman, who had been polishing the silver, and trying to impress one of the maids, with another.
‘Now is there sufficient shade?’
‘You forget, ma’am, I am used to the sun of the Iberian 71Peninsula, and I am not concerned about keeping a pale complexion.
’ Major Barkby motioned to William to set his chair in the afternoon sunlight, thereby leaving the ladies with the light shade.
Louisa thought he looked less sallow than ten days previously, and the limp was less pronounced.
A small voice within her wondered why she noticed.
Emily frowned at so many chairs, which seemed to mean the house was coming outside, and the people she did not know were too close. She scrambled to her feet and hurried to her mama’s side, where she held the black silk skirts as though a talisman to ward off danger. Louisa put her arm about her.
‘It is all right, my darling. These are Mama’s friends, and you have seen Lady Barkby before, remember?’
The little girl shook her head, and the copper red tints in her curls, which were slightly darker than Louisa’s, flashed in the light.
‘I am sorry, Lady Barkby.’ Louisa smiled, ‘You have not yet been added to Emily’s list of “people I know”. She is not shy once she feels the introduction is firmly made. Major Barkby, may I introduce you to Mrs Goodworth, my dear cousin and companion.’
The introduction was made, everybody sat down, and the major’s attention returned to the toddler, whose gaze was now fixed upon him as if assessing him. The lady was not interesting, but the man in the red coat was. He smiled, and leant forward in his chair.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Emily. I am very pleased to meet you. Is that your horse?’ He pointed at the wooden toy, and after a moment, received a nod.
‘I see you have been 72feeding him. Does he have a name?’ This time the head was shaken.
‘I had a nice horse.’ There was a touch of sadness in the simple phrase, one that Louisa picked up. ‘You should give your horse a name.’
Emily frowned, thinking. Names for horses were obviously not filling her head. She pointed at him.
‘You do it.’ It was more command than request.
His lips twitched. ‘Er, well, what about Horace, Horace the Horse.’
Louisa stifled a giggle as her daughter nodded enthusiastically.
Major Barkby glanced at her, a question in his eyes.
‘I am sorry. Horace was the name given to the antique bust that sits at the top of the stairs at h … where I grew up. He is a rather battered Roman.’
‘Horace,’ announced Emily, making it sound so close to ‘horse’ it was barely distinguishable, and took up its string to lead it to Major Barkby’s chair. ‘Pat Horace.’
He did so, and received a beaming smile as a reward. She then snatched a tuft of grass and offered it to him, so that he might have the pleasure of feeding the horse.
‘Oh dear,’ murmured Louisa, ‘I fear you are now going to be monopolised. I shall ring for the nursemaid.’
‘Please do not, unless you really wish it. I am perfectly happy to engage Miss Emily in conversation while you ladies discuss other matters.’ He looked as if he meant it, Louisa thought; they were not simply polite words.
‘I think the conversation may be more an interrogation. When the world shows new things every day, there are so many questions.’
73‘How else do we learn, ma’am?’
‘This is true, sir.’
‘Of course, a good governess is beyond price, though quite expensive,’ Lady Barkby remarked, and began to talk about what she had learnt from her own preceptress, from which Louisa privately deduced that the lady had not been ‘quite expensive’ at all.
The major appeared perfectly happy being shown that the pull-along horse had red wheels, and a black tail, and answering Emily’s difficult questions such as why horses had tails and she did not.
‘I am very pleased with my son’s improving health, Lady Dembleby,’ said Lady Barkby, in an undervoice.
‘He has been able to wear a boot upon the wounded leg these last two days without great discomfort, or at least without complaining of it. A musket ball went right through the calf, and it was this that caused the fever. He told me one surgeon even recommended amputation, but another felt there was enough sign of healing and both bones were not broken, and he was strong in constitution. I have not seen, of course, his wounds, other than his poor hand. He is very stoic.’
Louisa cast him a glance. Yes, she could admit to him being stoic without risk.
‘I am not sure I will ever forgive the French for all the harm they have caused these last twenty years. What with guillotines and then the Monster Napoleon, it quite puts one off them.’ Lady Barkby had found a less distressing topic.
Major Barkby was now floundering on why horses were not red like his coat.
74‘I forgot to tell you, Major Barkby, that the questions might be problematic.’ Louisa, lending half an ear to the conversation, turned her attention briefly from whether children ought now to be taught French.
‘You did, ma’am,’ responded the major, as Emily lifted the horse for his closer inspection, and nearly dropped it on his booted foot.
‘One needs one’s wits.’ He took the toy with his left hand, but unconsciously moved his gloved right hand also, where the soft leather had been folded and stitched back to the palm to cover the disfigurement.
‘It is quite exhausting, I assure you, sir.’
‘Why hand?’ Emily had no notion of conversation etiquette, and burst in, innocently. There was silence, a silence filling with embarrassment, and Louisa coloured.
‘Did we bring your ball out into the garden, Emily?’ she asked, not sure whether she ought to distract the child or reprimand her. Emily was not to be distracted.
‘Why hand?’ repeated Emily, pointing at the black glove.
‘Emily!’
‘My hand is hurt,’ said Major Barkby gently. The little girl tilted her head to one side, frowned, and then smiled.
‘Hand hurt,’ she declared, ‘kiss hand better,’ and suited action to word, raising her own little pink hand, fingers spread, and pressing the palm to her lips. Her tone implied everyone, except evidently Major Barkby, knew this treatment for ‘hurts’.
He laughed, and it occurred to him afterwards that it was the first time he had really laughed since he was wounded.
‘Alas that the surgeons in the Peninsula have not heard 75of the efficacy of that treatment, though I am not sure who they would provide to do the kissing, and the orderlies are often very rough and unfeeling fellows. Miss Emily, you are a breath of fresh air.’ He grinned at her, and her smile in return showed that he was now admitted into her circle of ‘friends’.
‘So sweet a child.’ Lady Barkby was much affected.
‘And in danger of becoming the opposite, I fear, if she learns to twist people about her little finger.’ Louisa was caught between relief and embarrassment.
‘I thought that was a skill all young ladies strove to perfect’ – Major Barkby was still looking at Emily – ‘to stand them in good stead when launched into Society. What chance have poor honest fellows against such expertise?’ He spoke light-heartedly.
‘Indeed, what chance would they have. How fortunate that so few exist.’
He looked up suddenly, for the widow’s tone was brittle. Yet again, he had touched some wound that was raw. He said nothing, for he had no idea what to say. Emily patted his knee to attract his attention back to her.
‘Where your horse?’
‘My horse is …’ There was a fraction of a moment before he continued, and his smile for her was a little twisted. ‘In his stable. He is rather old, but a kind horse. His name is Jester.’
‘Just A Horse,’ repeated Emily solemnly. ‘Ride Just A Horse to me.’
‘I will, I promise, when I can.’
At this point a peacock butterfly landed on a flower in 76the border, and the little girl ran to look at it, teetering at the edge of the grass, having learnt she must not tread on the flowers.
‘That was not the horse you mentioned at first, was it, Major Barkby.’ Louisa felt guilty for the second time since meeting him, and was irrationally annoyed with him for making her feel that way.
‘No. He was shot from under me.’ The words were emotionless, but he said no more.
‘I really think, dear Lady Dembleby, we ought to leave you to your watercolours before the light changes, or the paper dries out. I was always better with a needle than a pencil or brush, but do so admire those with the gift.’ Lady Barkby rose, touching her son’s arm.
‘When next I visit I hope you are not beset by decorators still.’
‘The term was “infested”, Mama,’ murmured the major.
‘“Infested”?’ Louisa blinked.
‘It was the way that your butler described it, ma’am.’
‘Oh. Well, I think in many ways he was quite right. However, by the end of the week I have been assured all the reception rooms will have been finished.’ Her annoyance dissolved. ‘Emily, wave bye-bye nicely to Lady Barkby.’
Emily, now fascinated by a ladybird, turned, and raised not one hand but both, and waved them. She was looking only at the major.
‘Bye-bye, Barky.’
Louisa covered her face. ‘I am mortified … so …’
‘Goodbye, Miss Emily.’ He waved back, as stiltedly. ‘What is her surname, Lady Dembleby? I ought not to call her by her first name really.’
77‘Henley, but she is only really aware she is Emily, and besides, she has clearly decided you are great friends.’
‘She was not being rude, you know. “Barkby” must be a very difficult word if you are only about three years old. I feel privileged that she has admitted me to her circle, which, if I recall, includes your head gardener … and the cat.’
‘And our cook. You forgot the cook, Major.’
‘So I did. Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am.’ He bowed, just a little stiffly, and offered his arm to his mother.
As they walked away, Louisa’s annoyance returned, but not with him, with herself.