The Soldier's Dark Secret

Jack watched impatiently as the port made a slow circuit of the table for the second time. Without Celeste by his side, he was distracted, worrying how she would fare in the company of the ladies. He had always found the endless toasts in the officers’ mess tedious, always found the need to disguise the fact he wasn’t actually emptying his glass each time tiresome, and tonight was no different, although at least when they were toasting the ladies and the king and their host and hostess and this patron and that patron, there was no opportunity for any other topic of conversation.

A final raising of glasses to the king, and to Jack’s intense relief Wellington pushed back his chair. He had managed, in the few moments between the ladies departing and the port arriving, to make his request to be granted access to Alfred Derwent’s file. Wellington had raised his eyebrows, looked as if he was going to ask the nature of Jack’s interest and then thought better of it, before consenting somewhat grudgingly to have it sent to Trestain Manor. He made it clear that the file contained highly confidential information and it was most irregular for Jack to have sight of it. The Duke then reminded him, in no uncertain terms, that having granted such a great favour, he would require Jack to repay it at a time of his choosing. What that might entail, Jack would worry about when it happened, which of a certainty it would, for the Duke always got his pound of flesh.

Celeste was not, as he had feared, sitting alone and neglected when the gentlemen left the dining room, but at the centre of a huddle of the younger wives. He stood on the periphery, listening with some amusement, for she was confiding in these most fashionable well-heeled ladies, where to shop for the best bargains in Paris. All of the places she mentioned were in unfashionable areas with which none of her listeners would be familiar. The ladies were, however, enthralled. One of them was actually writing notes down on the back of a visiting card. ‘And as to undergarments, Mademoiselle Marmion?’ a petite blonde whispered, and Jack decided it would be politic to make himself scarce.

He was standing next to a suit of armour, thinking that men in mediaeval times must have been considerably shorter than they were today, when Celeste rejoined him. ‘How you ladies do love a bargain,’ he said.

‘You were listening!’

‘I left before you shared the secrets of your undergarments.’ Jack looked sheepish. ‘That didn’t sound quite how I intended.’

Celeste blushed. ‘You should not have mentioned it at all. A lady’s undergarments are not a fit topic for a gentleman to discuss at a military dinner.’

‘Actually,’ he retorted, ‘you would be surprised at how often the subject comes up.’

‘Jack!’

‘Celeste.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘You have performed magnificently tonight. Thank you.’

‘It is I who should be thanking you.’

‘As to that, I have spoken to Wellington. He has agreed to send me Arthur Derwent’s file.’

‘Knowing his reputation, and what you have told me of the Duke, I’m sure there was a forfeit to be paid.’

‘Have I told you that you are very astute as well as beautiful?’

‘Yes. Jack, I’m being entirely serious. I would not have you compromise yourself or your principles for me. Are you contemplating going back into the army?’

‘No, but there’s no harm in letting Wellington think I am.’

‘You lied to the Duke of Wellington?’

‘Certainly not! I merely withheld the body of truth. Celeste...’

‘Lieutenant-Colonel Trestain! Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t expect to see you here. Your name wasn’t on the guest list that I saw.’

Jack’s blood ran cold as the man grabbed his hand and pumped it vigorously. ‘How do you do, Carruthers. I am here in Major Urquhart’s place.’

‘Ah, Urquhart, the Jock Upstart. I do remember seeing his name. I completely missed dinner. Carriage threw a wheel on the way here, but I thought I’d best show face, keep on his Grace’s good side.’

Jack turned to Celeste. ‘May I introduce Colonel John Carruthers,’ he said. ‘Mademoiselle Marmion is— She is an artist. Painting some landscapes of my brother Charlie’s estate.’

‘Delighted,’ Carruthers said, looking at Celeste with indifference, the first man all evening to do so. He had never been much of a ladies’ man, Jack remembered. A bluff, old-school but highly respected soldier, he was the type of man who called women fillies, and no doubt rode them as hard and selfishly as he did his horses. It made him unpopular with some of the men, Jack recalled now, his callous attitude to his mounts—the equine kind, that is. Callous treatment of women now, that was deemed, ironically, to be a less heinous crime by a number of officers. One of the many things Finlay found repugnant about the mess. One of the many things Jack and Finlay agreed on.

‘...don’t you think?’

Jack started. Carruthers was looking at him expectantly.