The Soldier's Dark Secret

Sobs racked his body. Celeste held him, rocking him, her own eyes dry, too shocked for tears, numb with horror, wordless with pity. She held him until his sobs stopped, until he pushed himself free and turned his back on her to throw water over his face from the bowl, pull a dressing gown over his damp body. He sat down in the chair at the window. ‘So you see,’ he said slowly, ‘I know all about the torment of futile questions. What if I had kept the information to myself? What if I had checked it more thoroughly? What if I had not insisted on going along? What if I had remained with Carruthers? What if I’d not been sick? What if I’d tried to take the gun from her? What if I’d tried to reason with her? I know what it’s like, Celeste, to have the possibilities tear at you until you can’t sleep and you can’t eat. But the difference between us is that my guilt is entirely justified. That poor, bereft young girl took her own life and it’s my fault. Tonight, with your help, I’ve proved I can manage the symptoms. But I can never be rid of the guilt. And that’s the price I will pay for ever. You see, don’t you?’

What he said felt quite wrong. She saw a man torturing himself, determined to go on torturing himself because he thought he deserved no better. She saw a brave man, fighting to control his demons, while at the same time determined to carry that burden with him. She could see what he was trying to spare her, but she couldn’t see that their cases were so very different. What if this? What if that? Why was he so set on relieving her of guilt, and so determined to cling on to his own?

Celeste stared at him helplessly. One thing was clear. Whether she wanted it or not, there was no future for her and Jack because he would not allow it. That was what he was telling her. Let me go, and spare us both the pain. She could do that. Jack had more than enough to bear already, and she— No, she could not allow herself to want a man who would not permit himself to want her. Not even Jack. Sadly, exhausted, defeated, she nodded, and began to pick up her clothing.

‘Celeste,’ Jack said as she made for the door. ‘Celeste, I need you to know that tonight— I can imagine ever wanting...’

‘Do not say that.’ She turned on him, suddenly angry. ‘Don’t tell me how wonderful it has been, and how unique, and perfect and—and—do not tell me. You think I want to be always thinking of that, in the future, when you are not there and I am taking comfort in some other man’s body?’ She couldn’t imagine it, but she forced herself to say it, because what did he expect! ‘I am sorry,’ she said gruffly. ‘I know how much it cost you to tell me that. I can’t begin to imagine what you are going through. I am sorry if it is selfish of me to be thinking—and I wish I could help you as you have helped me—are helping me—but I can’t. I can’t tell you what was going through that poor girl’s mind, any more than you can tell me what was going on in my mother’s. But you are set on absolving me, Jack.’

He made no answer. She supposed it was because there was no point. Outside, the night was giving way to a grey dawn. Celeste let herself quietly out into the corridor.

* * *

It was over. He had made certain it was over. Jack sat in the post-chaise beside Celeste the next day, subdued and silent, trying to persuade himself that he’d done the right thing. His confession, so long held at bay, had wrung him dry, but instead of making his guilt more raw, it seemed to have simply numbed him. The pain came from looking at the woman seated next to him, and seeing the dullness in her eyes, and knowing he was the cause. The pain came from knowing that he had wilfully destroyed something precious. The pain came from knowing that every day brought him closer to the day that would be the last day of their acquaintance. The only way he could manage it was to vow to himself that he would find her answers before that day arrived. That should be enough. He’d make it enough.

As soon as the carriage drew up at the front door, Celeste gathered up her reticule, picked her hat from the seat where she had discarded it in a futile attempt to pass the journey by sleeping, and made her way into the house, no doubt eager for the privacy of her bedchamber.

Wearily, wishing he could do the same but knowing his brother would be agog to hear all about the dinner, Jack was not surprised to be told that he was expected in the morning room at his convenience. It was the least he could do, and it was churlish of him to resent it, he told himself. Dresses and uniforms, toasts and a few choice anecdotes would do it. He’d managed to fool every one of the dinner guests into believing that Lieutenant-Colonel Trestain was alive and kicking, and none of them meant as much to him as Charlie. Charlie, his brother, his own flesh and blood, who had taken him in without question, and who had put up with Jack’s moods and his silences and his absences.