Run Them Ashore (14 page)

Mrs MacAndrews was biting her lip. It was a gesture Jane had worked hard to stop herself from doing when worried, and she had never before seen her mother do it. Williams looked uncomfortable, and she noticed that his arm was being squeezed with considerable ferocity.

‘Indeed, sir.’ Esther spoke with a hard edge to her voice. ‘Indeed, and I recollect that it is not the first time your memory has failed.’ She took a deep breath. Jane watched Lord Turney closely, baffled by the scene and her mother’s cold anger. Did his eyes flicker, recognition and perhaps something else betrayed for an instant before the elegant calm was restored?

‘If so, then you have my sincere apologies.’ Lord Turney bowed very low this time, and reached out his hand to confirm the apology.

Esther MacAndrews did not even glance at it. ‘Jane, I am not feeling well. It is the heat. We must retire to somewhere cooler and more open. Will you excuse us, General,’ she made a slight knee to Graham, ‘gentlemen?’

‘Of course, of course.’ The general sounded a little confused, but more concerned for their health. ‘Of course, you must go. Goodnight, Mrs MacAndrews, Miss MacAndrews.’

Her mother led the way, Williams’ arm still held in a vice-like grip, half dragging the big man through the crowd. They went through a long side room and out into one of the gardens, where lanterns hung from the branches of trees to light the tables and pavilions. There were plenty of people there, but the press was less close, even though no breeze stirred the night air. The gentlemen were sent to fetch drinks. ‘I need something stronger than juice,’ her mother said. ‘So let Pringle choose it as I believe he is the better judge.’

Jane tried without success to draw her mother into discussion of the hanging baskets of flowers. The matter of the silk drapes on the pavilions similarly failed to excite her interest.

‘Damn him, damn him for making me angry.’ The words were whispered so softly that Jane barely heard them. She doubted her mother was aware that she had spoken aloud.

Hoping to lighten the mood she instead considered the passers-by. ‘That is an uncommonly tall lady over there with the scarlet gloves,’ she said, ‘and especially since her escort is so small.’ The gentleman wore a yellow velvet coat and high powdered wig, but still was dwarfed by his companion.

‘The one in the dress is a man, Jane,’ her mother said flatly. ‘It is the lady in the wig.’

‘Lady seems over-generous,’ she replied, and now could not understand how she had missed the signs.

‘Festivals here are a curious affair.’ Esther MacAndrews did not sound interested, and when the gentlemen returned she emptied the glass quickly and then announced that Pringle must escort her home. The latter was flustered before this, and Jane had the malicious thought that the captain may have begun to attend a ‘lady’ only to discover that it was in fact a man. Billy Pringle was very ready in his affections towards the fair sex, and Jane did not think less of him for that.

‘We should all leave,’ Jane declared.

‘No, we should not. I do not feel well, but you should enjoy yourself, my dear, and take the chance to dance.’ Her mother was adamant and not to be shifted. The deft exchange of escorts was equally irresistible. ‘Williams will take good care of you. If he does not, then I shall have him shot!’ The joke was weak and not delivered with any enthusiasm.

Williams and she wandered, heading towards the sounds of music. Nowhere could they find any sets being danced, and the boleros and fandangos were certainly beyond Williams’ capacities. Jane wanted to learn these dances, but had only had the chance for some basic tuition, and at present was more eager to practise her singing and playing. Both had come on considerably during the year they had spent in England.

In one of the bigger pavilions they found an orchestra playing waltzes. There were considerably more British and other foreigners there, and although many Spanish ladies were drawn on to the floor, over time Jane noticed that few returned more than once. A dance where the partners held each other so closely was no doubt scandalous to those unused to such innovations. She danced twice with Williams, who had declared that he knew the steps. This was true, at least of the essentials, and he seemed less awkward than when they had first stepped out together two years before. Yet there was also a reserve about him, not she felt from shyness, but something else that was new. Both his conversation and his manner stopped a little short of the intimacy she had come to expect.

Jane also danced with a captain of the Foot Guards who had travelled out with them on the same vessel, and through him two of his fellow officers. They were all competent and charming, although none showed any unusual wit. Williams said something about that being only to be expected when she mentioned this to him.

‘If you are not already engaged, then may I crave the honour of a dance, Miss MacAndrews.’ Lord Turney appeared from nowhere, his manner so courteous that she had accepted before realising who it was. It was still an honour to be asked by such
a senior guest, but she could not help wishing that it had been General Graham instead.

Yet Turney was a fine dancer, as vigorous as he was agile, and soon the floor cleared as the couple drew admiring gazes. The general held her firmly, and very close, leading with a bold step.

‘That fine lady, your mother, is from the Americas, I would think?’ His voice was clipped and precise.

‘Yes, my lord, from Charleston originally.’

‘A loyalist family, I presume, although she is clearly not old enough to recollect the Rebellion. But then I can scarcely believe that she has the years to be mother to a daughter who must be at least eighteen.’

Unsure whether or not that was a compliment reflecting badly on her, Jane did not reply for a moment. ‘I am twenty, my lord, and my mother is still young.’ She could not think of anything better to say, for this questioning surely concealed a deeper purpose.

‘Of course, though in your case you combine the freshness of a spring bloom with a sophistication far beyond your years.’

The general seemed satisfied and said no more than a few formal pleasantries for the remainder of the dance. His hold became tighter still, pressing her to him in a manner so intimate that it surely deserved the disapproving stares of some of the watching locals. It was done with skill, and Jane found no way to loosen the grip. The general was dangerous, and also very gallant. At the end of the piece he bowed, thanked her, pressing her hand firmly, and then vanished back into the crowd.

She saw no more of him and soon they ventured back into the gardens. It was getting late and Jane suggested that they leave. Her shoes had begun to press during the dancing and she longed to bathe her feet. As they threaded their way between the pavilions they passed more women dressed in breeches and men’s coats and men in dresses. It seemed odd for folk given to such habits to be offended by a waltz, but then these were the fringes of a great ball and granted far more licence than elsewhere. Several
times Jane saw ladies startled by something and felt that licence might be too slight a term.

‘Lieutenant Williams, as I live and breathe. Oh, and the very lovely Miss MacAndrews.’ The voice was heavily slurred with drink, and belonged to a slim fellow with a badly scarred face. There was something familiar about him apart from his manner, but Jane realised who he was only when Williams replied.

‘Hatch,’ he said. ‘I did not know that you were still in Cadiz.’

‘Oh, still here, Williams, waiting for the call to duty and glory. Though it is Lieutenant Hatch now, if you please.’

‘My apologies. I have not yet had a chance to offer congratulations. You have transferred to a foreign corps, I recollect.’

Hatch was a small man, wounded badly in the head at Talavera. Jane remembered him as a vulgar fellow, who never seemed to be altogether sober. He wore a blue jacket with green cuffs and collar, and wings on the shoulders. Those were the mark of a flank company, which suggested it was the uniform of his new regiment and not simply one of the fashionable undress coats, like the one Williams had borrowed.

‘Yes, I am with the light bobs – the rifle company of the Chasseurs.’ Hatch bowed, looked nauseous, and slowly straightened up. As he did so he leered very obviously at the front of Jane’s dress. She did not remember seeing him quite as drunk as this. Not long ago her mother had hinted that the transfer to the foreign regiment had not been voluntary, but imposed by Colonel FitzWilliam as a punishment. Apparently there were unpaid gambling debts and other misdemeanours, and so it was felt better to have the fellow away from the regiment, at least for a while. By the sound of things her father had acted on the colonel’s behalf and helped to arrange the matter.

‘Well, congratulations indeed.’ She could feel Williams’ utter distaste for the man as he held her arm. ‘But we must bid you goodnight.’

Hatch ignored the hint and fell into step beside them. Jane managed to avoid a loose attempt made to take her free arm.

‘Good to be with friends,’ Hatch said. Williams glared, but
said no more. The press of the crowd was thicker down one of the aisles and they had to work their way through, jostled on all sides. Some of the touches felt more deliberate than accidental. Then Jane was pinched – undoubtedly pinched – through the silk of her dress. She jerked up straight, and Williams must have felt the motion for he looked down at her, face concerned. Jane shook her head to signify that it was nothing. Used to gentlemen whose hands were inclined to wander too freely during a dance, she had not before encountered anything so gross. The sight of other ladies being startled suggested that she was not singled out.

‘I need friends, you see,’ Hatch explained, ignoring the silence of the other two. Jane wondered whether the officer was responsible, but his hands were clasped together in front of him. It seemed better to avoid a scene.

‘There are enemies out there,’ the scarred officer continued. ‘A father and his ruffians out for my blood. That is if they can find me.’ Hatch touched his nose, inviting them to join his little conspiracy. ‘I have taken precautions to evade pursuit.’

‘Really,’ Williams said without the slightest trace of interest. Jane felt another touch, this time different, more like the pressure of something being pushed against her. She tried to peer back over her shoulder, but having her hair down made it more difficult. Williams leaned back and his face filled with anger.

‘Oh yes, from the beginning I threw them off the scent by telling them that my name was Williams.’ Hatch chuckled, and did not seem quite so drunk.

Williams’ arm slipped free from Jane and he squared up to the other officer.

‘You did what, sir!’ His voice was loud and made several people turn. Jane took the opportunity to twist and saw that someone had stuck a sweet pastry on to her dress in the middle of her bottom. She reddened in a mixture of outrage and shame.

‘Well, Williams is a good name for a rogue,’ Hatch said in a level voice. He was slouching, his whole manner avoiding any challenge.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ Williams began, and then Jane interrupted
him with a yelp. A man in a gold-laced white coat and plumed tricorne hat had walked past her, and as he did his arm flicked over, brushing against her chest and dropping something sticky down the front of her dress.

The civilian grinned, and Williams swung into a punch that knocked the man off his feet and sent him crashing back to overturn a table. Jane was wriggling, trying to pluck whatever it was back out, but her fingers were clumsy in her gloves. There was cream on them and she guessed it must be another pastry.

Another civilian shouted something at Williams, and the Welshman punched him as well, sending him staggering backwards. Hatch had gone.

‘We should leave,’ Jane said, trying to copy something of her mother’s usual firmness. Williams looked belligerent, ready to slam his fist into the world at large, and several men appeared willing to confront him. ‘Take me home, sir,’ she said, and the appeal to duty and her protection did the trick.

Neither spoke, but they hurried on their way as fast as Jane’s tight shoes would allow. They were near the corner of the last street before their lodgings when two men in long cloaks and wide hats blocked their path.

‘Señor Williams?’ one said, struggling to pronounce the name.

‘Yes, damn it, what do you want?’ her companion said gruffly, then realising that he had sworn. ‘My apologies, Miss MacAndrews.’

Steel glinted as the men produced slim knives from beneath their cloaks.

Jane screamed, felt foolish immediately, but did not stop. Williams pushed her back, stepping forward to place himself between the girl and their assailants. He jabbed a punch, but the men stepped back easily. They moved a little apart so that they could threaten him from two sides at once.

Shouts came from behind them and the sound of running feet. The two cloaked men exchanged glances and then fled.

‘Are you all right, Jane?’ Williams said, so concerned that he used her Christian name. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘I am fine,’ she said, but there was no time for more because the Guards captain and his friends appeared – it was they who had given chase and frightened off their assailants.

Thanks were offered, solicitous enquiries made about her health, and she had four escorts to take her the last short distance to her door. She was too tired to speak beyond the necessary courtesies. It had been a long and unnerving night.

Fatigue had not produced sleep, even once she was bathed and could feel clean again – she feared it would not be so easy to clean her gown and other clothes. So much had happened, so quickly that Jane could not find rest.

The assailants were probably seeking that drunken fool Hatch. That seemed most likely, and their interest had been in Williams and not her. People spoke of stabbings in the streets almost as a commonplace now that Cadiz was crowded with so many ambitious, jealous and greedy men. She hoped that her friend’s life would not be endangered again so soon, although from a few things Pringle had said the Welshman had once more been flinging himself into danger in the last few weeks. Jane resolved to ask Dobson about what had happened when the sergeant next called to see his grandson. She feared a recklessness about Williams, and wondered about his odd reserve. Her feelings towards him had grown stronger in the last year, far stronger, even though they still fell just short of certainty. It would be hard indeed to lose him now – or was that better than to commit at last only to lose him in a few months’ time when his boldness exhausted his store of luck?