CHAPTER SEVEN #3
He trotted along the road, guiltily aware of the recognisable ball of excitement within him that stemmed from the hope of action.
However much he might wish otherwise, it now looked as if his father would not see the New Year, and he would have to sell out.
It would not have been easy persuading his superiors that he could return to his regiment other than as some paper signatory at the depot, recruiting, finding remounts, but he would have liked to try.
This might be the last hint of anything that even smelt of risk and made the blood pump faster.
He went directly to the stables, where he found Josiah Wyre waiting. He made everything clear to him. Wyre, he thought, was the one man he already knew he could trust, 109one who would not get over-excited or panic. He then walked round to the front of the house and found Leece waiting for him.
‘Good evening, sir. If you will hand your bag to William, sir, I will have it conveyed up to one of the guest chambers. Should you wish to shave et cetera in the morning …’
‘Indeed. Thank you, Leece.’
‘Her ladyship is in the drawing room, sir.’ The butler, sounding even more ‘butlerian’ than usual to stress the fact that he was not in any way discomposed by the thought of waiting up for burglars during the night hours, opened the door and announced him.
Lady Dembleby was standing by the fire with Mrs Goodworth, and turned.
The fire glow caught the copper in her hair and it shone.
‘You will forgive me not dressing for dinner, ma’am, I hope. It seemed foolish to change my uniform and then await burglars as though prepared to offer them a convivial evening of cards.’
‘Oh goodness me, no, Major Barkby. I … I confess I am a little nervous.’
‘You need not be. I am quite civilised when it comes to dining, despite all those years campaigning.’ He could not resist.
She laughed softly, which gave him great pleasure, but then became more serious. ‘It does seem almost impossible to imagine, something so dramatic and … you do not think it dangerous, sir? Truly?’
‘You will be perfectly safe.’
‘I did not mean me. Of course I did not. I meant you … 110and the men.’ Was she blushing, or was that a trick of the firelight?
‘Truly, nothing is without any risk at all. I would say the risk was minimal, though there might be bruises from knocking into furniture in poor light.’
‘And what is your plan, Major Barkby?’ asked Mrs Goodworth, her hands pressed together as if already praying for their safe deliverance.
‘Essentially, ma’am, we wait. I will have the men positioned where it would be most likely that the burglars would attempt entry, one listening for any attempt at the rear of the house, since we know a suspicious character was nosing around there, but predominantly in the hall since this room, the morning room and dining room are most likely.
They would want to enter, steal and depart, not wander about a house they do not know.
I will stay in here in a chair for the night, but have the men switch watches at two in the morning.
As long as there are four of us it ought to be sufficient. ’
‘But what if the gang is larger?’ Mrs Goodworth’s voice trembled.
‘They will have a man with the horses, since I doubt they run away on foot, and any more than three in the house would be risking too much noise. No, I think our numbers are sufficient.’
Leece entered, with the information that dinner was served, and the major offered his arm to his hostess, aware that the moment approached where his disability would be patent. The table as set, however, seemed designed to make things easy for him. He wondered.
111‘I thought you would not mind essentially taking pot luck with us, Major Barkby, since this is a very … unusual dinner engagement.’
‘All the better for it, ma’am, and you have a ragout of lamb, I see, which is a particular favourite of mine. In Spain we would sometimes catch hares and have them as a ragout, and very fine they tasted too.’
There was also a fricassee of chicken and pigeon patties, with an assortment of side dishes, a syllabub and a compote of pears.
He had created a way of holding a knife, just holding it. It was not normal, but it was not so outlandish that one simply had to stare. Using it was another matter.
Louisa did not stare, did not appear to watch, but she saw.
She saw the need of the man to keep up the pretence of normality.
He was not some freak of nature, but a man who had suffered a wound, a wound that showed and affected how he did things everyone did without a second thought. She had been right to speak with Cook.
Mrs Goodworth, seated at Louisa’s right, and opposite the major, did watch, though she thereafter so studiously avoided looking where his hand might be that it was almost worse.
The conversation was strained but ordinary, about how the Court cheeses were selling well in Frome and that another girl was being taken on in the Home Farm dairy to assist, how the major’s new horse was turning out to be all he had hoped.
No mention was made of the fact that, after the tea tray had been brought in and the ladies retired, Major Barkby was going to be awaiting violent criminals 112in the drawing room. It was more than slightly surreal.
Lady Dembleby rose at the end of the meal to leave him with the port, but he smiled wryly.
‘I think, since we are being informal, I would prefer it if I might pour myself a glass and bring it with me to the drawing room to sit with you both.’
‘Oh yes,’ declared Mrs Goodworth, sounding relieved. ‘We would not wish to be alone.’
‘Cousin, it is a quarter hour before eight, and the house is well lit and clearly “active”. Ruffians are not going to assault us as I pour tea. You must not be so nervous.’ Louisa smiled at her.
‘I shall try, but … oh dear.’
‘Have you any tales to tell, Major Barkby, of life upon campaign, which might be acceptable for a female audience?’ Lady Dembleby turned to him, still smiling, and he thought it informed him that she was not of so delicate a nature that the mere mention of action would have her seeking her vinaigrette.
He thought for a moment, expurgating things that might otherwise creep into his narrative, and told them of the vedette that reported enemy movement that turned out to be three wild goats, though they had sworn they had heard whispering in French.
This made the ladies laugh. He then told a story of seeing a Portuguese priest leave his church after celebrating Mass and then sit with some of his ‘flock’ outside a taverna, and play at cards with them, for money, and win.
‘But that was shameful.’ Mrs Goodworth, relict of a clergyman, was shocked.
113‘Yes, ma’am, but I saw what he did afterwards, which was take the money to a hovel where a woman with many thin children came to the door, and he gave it to her.’
‘Oh, but surely the ends did not justify the means, sir. To gamble, and on the Sabbath.’
‘Ah, but this was not the Sabbath, ma’am, for it was after a daily Mass. He observed me, observing him, and he shrugged and gave a small smile. The Portuguese shrug so very expressively.’
‘I wonder,’ said Lady Dembleby, ‘if you would care to play at cards, sir. I am sure there is a pack of cards in the drawer of the table, and I have seen a box of fish so that we might play Speculation, if that is not too juvenile for you. Mrs Goodworth does not approve of gambling for money, but this would be mere entertainment, and while away the time until the tea is brought in.’
‘I, er, have not played the game in years.’
‘Oh good, then the greater chance I have of winning,’ she declared, and looked at her companion. ‘You will not say no, Hetty, will you?’
‘Since it may keep our minds from … and it is only for little counters of fish. I do not think it … wrong.’
Lady Dembleby crossed the room and opened a drawer, removing from it both cards and a wooden box, and Major Barkby came to move the table.
‘Oh, I can ring for …’
‘I am not totally debilitated, ma’am, and the table is neither large nor weighty.’
Indeed, by placing his right hand under the top, and grasping it with his left, he moved the table perfectly easily.
114‘I apologise, sir. It is difficult to gauge what your … injury precludes.’
‘I am still in the process of finding out, I promise you.’
‘Can you write with any facility, with your left hand?’ she enquired, wondering if it was an impertinence to ask.
‘Not as neatly as I would wish, but in some people it appears that the domination of one hand over the other is not so great, and although it is more laborious, and hardly a hand one would commend, I can write legibly, and not so large that it might be taken as the writing of a child. One never realises how many everyday actions involve both hands, but I am very fortunate, in that I still possess a thumb, and enough index finger to give some opposition for it. It means the hand can be used a little in conjunction with the left and there are thus some tasks I can perform, if not smoothly, then to completion. I was pathetically proud of myself the day I did up my first button.’ He smiled, but it was a twisted smile.
What he saw upon her face was not pity, he believed, but compassion.
‘Now, let us see if I can hold my cards without spilling them all over the floor, shall we?’