PART FIVE
The World War
1812 to 1815
32
Dear Spade,
Well, I am still alive after 13 years in the army, they should give me a medal just for sticking it out! Now I am in Spain, where they have things they call cigarroes, tobacco wrapped in a leaf, it all burns and no need for pipes, we all smoke them now.
Anyway, we just had a victory although it came at a high price. We besieged a town called Badajoz that had a very strong wall and the French fought back like hell plus the weather was against us, I was digging trenches in the pouring rain.
It took us a week to wheel the guns into position. The wooden roads our engineers built over the mud kept getting washed away. But we managed in the end and I wish I had a pound for every cannonball we fired, they fell on the town like rain. It took nearly another two weeks but we breached their walls in the end and stormed the defences.
Well, it was the worst battle I seen so far, because they fired down on us with everything they got, shrapnel, grenades, bombs, even bales of burning hay. We lost thousands of men, it was a slaughterhouse, Spade, but we got through in the end, and then I can tell you we gave the citizens hell, I will say no more about that, several men were flogged next day for rape.
It looked worse in the morning, bodies piled high, trenches full of blood. I saw our commander, Wellington, looking at all the corpses of his men, and he was weeping, wiping his tears with a white handkerchief.
Next we march north. In your prayers please ask God to continue to protect me.
Your affectionate brother-in-law Freddie Caines.
*
THE EARL OFSHIRINGdied in July 1812. Two days later Amos ran into Jane outside Kirkup’s Bookshop in the High Street. She was dressed in black but fizzing with excitement. ‘Don’t you dare offer me your sincere condolences,’ she said. ‘I’m exhausted from pretending to be bereaved. I hope I don’t have to fake it with you. I’ve lived with that boring old man for sixteen years – who knew he would keep going to the age of seventy-five! I might as well have married him instead of his son.’
She was in her fortieth year, and still devastatingly attractive. The little lines at the corners of her eyes and the few silver threads in her dark hair seemed only to add to her allure. And black suited her. However, Amos was no longer in love with her. Ironically, that made their friendship stronger. And she was kind about letting him discreetly spend time with Hal, now approaching seven years old, whom he suspected – without confirmation – to be his son.
He did not regret the change in his relationship with Jane. He had had a youthful passion for her which had unfortunately lasted long after his adolescence was over. In some ways, he thought, he had been slow to grow up. Now he could fall in love again, theoretically. However, he was less than a year from his fortieth birthday, and he felt too old to go courting. He was lonely only at night. He had many friends, and his days were busy, but there was no one to share his bed.
Jane was focused on herself, as usual. ‘I’m free from my father-in-law at last,’ she said jubilantly. ‘And I’m a countess!’
‘Which was what you always wanted,’ Amos said. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you. I have to organize the funeral, because Henry’s toobusy. He’s the earl now, obviously. He’ll have to take his seat in the House of Lords. He’ll be the new lord lieutenant of Shiring. And little Hal has become Viscount Northwood.’
Amos had not thought of that. The boy who might or might not be his son was now an aristocrat. Why, in ten years’ time he might go to Oxford and study. Amos had always wished he could have studied, and failing that he had hoped for a son to fulfil his dream. Perhaps it was going to happen after all.
Then it occurred to Amos that Hal might want to be like his father, and become a soldier. The possibility was dismaying. That Hal should be killed by a sword, or a cannonball! For an instant Amos felt ill.
At that moment the boy himself emerged from the shop carrying a book. Amos was suddenly conscious of his own heartbeat. He had to hide the surge of emotion that came over him at the sight of Hal.
As yet the boy’s appearance gave no clue to his paternity: he had dark hair and a cute face, like his mother. He would change in adolescence. Perhaps Amos would become sure of the truth then.
Hal was followed out of the shop by the proprietor, Julian Kirkup, a round, bald man who was obsequiously delighted to have an aristocratic customer.
Forcing a casual tone of voice, Amos said: ‘What book did you get, Hal?’
‘It’s calledThe History of Sandford and Merton. They’re two boys.’
Kirkup said: ‘Very suitable for young Lord Northwood, if I may say so. Good morning to you, Lady Shiring, and Alderman Barrowfield.’ Amos had been made an alderman some years ago, in a surge of support for liberal tolerance that had also added Spade to the city government at last.
Hal said: ‘I haven’t any money, but Mr Kirkup said he could put it on your account, Mama.’
‘Yes, dear, of course,’ said Jane. ‘What is the book about?’
Kirkup said: ‘Tommy Merton is a rather spoiled young man who is befriended by plain, honest Harry Sandford. A most moral tale, my lady, and very popular.’
