Tangled (23 page)

"My wife has been indisposed," David said.

"Oh, but I would love to go," she said, looking at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. "May we, David?"

He inclined his head. The nightmare was intruding into the real world again. It could no longer be held behind the boundaries of sleep. "Thank you, Scherer," he said. "You will give me your direction before you leave."

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"May we offer you tea or other refreshments?" Rebecca asked.

But Sir George knew that his call had been made after teatime and apologized for coming so late. He had done so merely to issue the invitation. He did not stay beyond a couple more minutes.

By the time he had seen Sir George to the door, David found that Rebecca had retired to her room for her usual rest before dinner.

Rebecca dressed carefully for the visit to the Scherers, wearing a green silk evening dress she had had made for her trousseau and had worn for only one dinner and dance at Stedwell. There was something exciting about meeting a man who had known Julian and fought with him. There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask Sir George Scherer, though she knew she was going to have to be discreet. She must not show an overeagerness to hear about Julian in David's presence—or out of it, for that matter.

And yet her hands stilled as she clasped a string of pearls about her neck. Julian? David had been in the Crimea too. She was hungry for knowledge about that time in his life. Apart from what he had said on the evening of his return to Craybourne, when she had been too preoccupied with her own pain to listen attentively, he had shown a marked reluctance to talk about the Crimean War. It was understandable, she supposed, especially in light of the fact that he had nightmares about his experiences there. But she longed to know more. If she only knew what he had lived through during those years, she sometimes thought, she would have the key to knowing him and understanding him. Though she had never known or understood David, even when he was a boy. He had never allowed her to.

"You saved Sir George Scherer's life?" she asked him at the dinner after the baronet's visit.

He had shrugged. "I probably saved a hundred men's lives," he had said, "and a hundred men probably saved mine. Fighting a war is a communal effort, Rebecca. Men look out for their comrades as well as for themselves when every moment can and does bring death."

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And yet Sir George had seemed to feel particularly indebted to David. She longed to discover that David had been as much of a hero at the Battle of Inkerman as Julian had been. She had always been so intent on seeing Julian as a hero that she had somewhat ignored David's efforts in the same battle. And yet he had been gravely wounded there. She wanted him to have been a hero there too as he had been later, after Julian's death.

And yet there was something strange. She frowned into the dimness of the carriage that was conveying them to Scherers' leased house on Portman Place. David's tone at dinner had been so dismissive that the topic had died a quick death. And today he had left home after breakfast and not returned until a couple of hours ago.

He had commanded her to spend the day quietly at home and she had done so, despite the fact that she had been planning to call on Denise during the afternoon.

He sat beside her now, looking morose. He did not want reminders of that time in his life, it seemed, even pleasant ones, and out of sheer instinct she almost stretched out a hand toward him. But she stopped herself in time. One did not do such tilings with David.

They were the only dinner guests of the Scherers. Sir George was as effusive in his greeting as he had been the day before. Lady Scherer was a great deal more reserved—and very beautiful. Rebecca admired her petite figure in a dark wine red evening gown, and her very dark hair and eyes.

"Lady Tavistock, you will remember I told you," Sir George said to his wife, looking down into her face, "was married to Captain Cardwell. You remember him Cynthia."

"You knew Julian too?" Rebecca asked, her eyes widening.

"Yes, we had an acquaintance," Cynthia Scherer said.

"You went abroad with your husband," Rebecca said, the envy in her voice unmistakable. "How fortunate you were. I would have given anything in the world to go too, but Julian did not believe my health would stand it. I have always regretted those lost months."

She was aware suddenly of David standing silently beside her. She smiled at Lady Scherer and hoped that

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someone would change the subject. But she ached with the longing to ask question upon question. It was a relief when Sir George moved away to pour them drinks and Lady Scherer began a polite discussion of the weather.

But the conversation moved inevitably back to the Crimea during dinner. At first Rebecca welcomed the fact. She drank in every detail, trying not to ask questions, trying not to make obvious her thirst for knowledge. But Sir George seemed to sense it.

"Tell Lady Tavistock what you remember of Captain Cardwell during those months, my love," he instructed his wife. "Another woman can probably remember details that would escape the memory of mere males. Eh, Major?" He laughed heartily.

"I scarcely knew him," Lady Scherer said. "I do remember that he was very popular with both his fellow officers and his men. He seemed to possess the rare gift of being always cheerful."

"Yes." Rebecca leaned forward, forgetting everyone else at the table for the moment. "He was always like that, even as a boy."

"And he was charming to the ladies," Sir George said. "Come now, you must admit that, Cynthia."

"Everyone always loved him," Rebecca said. She turned her head sharply suddenly. "Didn't they, David?"

"Rebecca and I are partial, of course," David said. "Julian and I grew up as brothers. Rebecca was his wife. You sold out of the army after being wounded, Scherer? How has civilian life been treating you?"

"Oh, it can be a little tedious at times," Sir George said. "Cynthia misses the excitement of army life, don't you, my love? Some wives do, Lady Tavistock. It gets into the blood, you know.''

"You were fortunate that your husband survived," Rebecca said, smiling at Cynthia Scherer. "What a great relief that must have been to you."

"Thanks to your husband," Sir George said, raising his wineglass.

"My wife owes my survival to him. We must drink a toast to Major Tavistock, my love. Will you join us, Lady Tavistock?"

Rebecca lifted her glass and smiled at David. “He tells me that saving lives is commonplace in battle," she said.

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"Modesty, Lady Tavistock," Sir George said, laughing. "Your husband is too modest by half. That sword had already incapacitated my right arm—I will carry the scars to my grave—and was within a second or less of piercing my chest. Your husband shot the blackguard through the heart. He was dead before he hit the ground.

A steadier aim I have never seen."

"I think," David said, "that the ladies would prefer a more cheerful topic of conversation."

"Modesty, you see, Lady Tavistock?" Sir George said, laughing. "It embarrasses him to be proclaimed a hero. Cynthia never ceases to sing his praises, do you my love? Let's drink that toast."

David's eyes remained on his plate as they lifted their glasses to their lips and drank.

Rebecca did not like Sir George Scherer. She had at first and could not quite understand why she did not now. He was jovial and friendly and kept bringing the conversation back to topics she craved to hear talked about. David had saved his life and he was obviously brimful of gratitude. But there was something.

There was an atmosphere. As if the three of them were privy to some secret that she knew nothing about. In reality, of course, it was just that she felt like an outsider since the three of them shared experiences and memories that were denied her. That was all it was.

But that was not it either. Not quite. There was an atmosphere.

David and Lady Scherer rarely spoke. Or smiled. They never either looked at each other or spoke to each other, Rebecca realized at last when they had all moved to the drawing room for coffee. But then they had had little chance. Sir George Scherer was the type of man who liked to dominate the conversation. All the rest of them needed to do was to respond on cue.

That must be why she disliked him. And why the others disliked him too—she realized in some shock that it was so. Even his wife disliked him. It was difficult to like a man to whom others were nothing more than an audience. Not people to be understood and listened to, but anonymous members of an audience. There were such men—and women too, probably—and Sir George Scherer was one of them.

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Yes, that was it. It was a relief to have analyzed what was wrong with the evening and with herself and her three companions. She was glad of the chance to stroll across the room with Lady Scherer to admire a display of china and to become involved in a purely feminine conversation about fashion.

But the respite did not last long.

"How wonderful it is to see you making friends so easily, my love,"

Sir George said to his wife. He had come up behind them, David with him. "My wife is rather shy with other ladies, Lady Tavistock.

Perhaps it is because her father is in trade, though I have assured her more times than I can recall that such a fact means nothing nowadays. Or perhaps it is because she spent so many years surrounded by men. I sometimes believe she finds it easier to be with men than with women."

He was also vulgar, Rebecca thought. He could have phrased that last sentence differently. A gentleman would have chosen his words with more care.

"We have been deciding that the crinoline is a silly fashion," she said lightly. "We have decided that if we had our way we would return to the days of the Regency and wear those lovely loose, comfortable dresses."

Sir George chuckled.

"Ladies enjoy talking about fashion," Rebecca said firmly before he could launch into a speech. "Don't we, Lady Scherer?"

"You must call my wife Cynthia," Sir George said. "You must see more of each other during the coming days."

"We are here for only a brief stay," David said. "We will be returning to Stedwell soon."

"Stedwell," Sir George said. "In Gloucestershire?"

David inclined his head.

"Cynthia's father lives in the city of Gloucester," Sir George said.

"Not a stone's throw from the cathedral. We often visit, don't we, my love? We must call on you one of these times."

"You will be very welcome," Rebecca said, smiling at Lady Scherer.

"Thank you," she said. "We do not go often."

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Sir George chuckled. "You see how wives make liars of us, Major?"

he said.

It was a great relief to Rebecca when she and David were finally in the carriage on the way home. It had been a mistake, she thought, to look forward to hearing more about that missing part of Julian's life.

And a mistake to try to pry into David's heroism when he had not wanted to talk about it himself. The evening had been far from successful.

But she felt amused more than anything now that it was all over.

She wanted to turn to David and laugh with him over the strange character of Sir George Scherer. She wanted to ask him if he had ever regretted saving the man's life. But she realized, as she turned her head to look at him in the darkness of the coach interior, that the joke would be in very bad taste. Perhaps he would not see it as a joke at all. He was looking grim enough.

And that atmosphere was back again, though they were away from the house on Portman Place and were alone together on their way home. That quite indefinable atmosphere that filled her with unease.

And so she said nothing at all about the evening. They traveled most of the way through the streets of London in silence.

"I want you to stay in bed all morning tomorrow, Rebecca," David said quietly when they were close to home. "We will take the afternoon train back to Sted-well."

"Tomorrow?" she said. "I thought we were not going until Friday."

"I want you at home," he said, "where you can relax properly.

There is nothing further to stay here for.''

"Horace and Denise are coming to dinner tomorrow evening," she said.

"I will send our excuses," he said. "They will understand. They both know about your condition. We will go home tomorrow afternoon—after you have had a good rest."

"Yes, all right, David," she said.

She was enormously relieved. Suddenly she wanted to be back home. At home there was so much to do. At home there were no silences with David. There was always something to be discussed. At home they were

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friends. Yes, it was not an exaggeration. They were— friends.

She felt desperate to be away from this atmosphere. It was just London, that was all. City life did not suit them. There was too much idleness there, not enough to do. That was all that was wrong. And now that dreadful man had accentuated it all. The atmosphere would be gone once they had left London behind.

"It will be good to be home," she said.

He looked at her for the first time. "Yes," he said. "Yes, it will."

She wanted him to take her hand in his. But of course he did not.

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It was amazing how quickly a place could come to feel like home.

Stedwell had been David's all his life, but he had lived there for only the past two months. Yet when he stepped from the train with Rebecca and found the same shabby, old-fashioned carriage waiting for them as had met them on their wedding day, it seemed to David a wonderful homecoming. And his heart lifted even further when he had his first sight of Stedwell and it looked unmistakably like home—still with its neglected air, except that branches no longer obscured the western windows and there were no daisies blooming in the grass beyond the river and the bridge—and the lion had been put back on its pillar at the gateway.