The young man he indicated stood up from his desk and approached them. He was well made, dark in his coloring and moved with a certain grace. Hugh was reminded of the foxes on his estate. The impression was strengthened by the man’s high cheekbones, the cautious assessment of them apparent in his dark eyes.
“I am Claver Wicksteed,” he introduced himself. “You are Captains Thornleigh and Hawkshaw. Did the Colonel send you down to see how we get on?”
“He did.” Thornleigh was a little taken aback by the man’s attitude. Wicksteed continued to watch him.
“And how do you get on?” Hawkshaw asked pointedly. “Do you have all you require? You are new to this doctoring line, are you not?”
“Not sure if you could call it doctoring, sir, what I do. The surgeon said he needed more help and here I am. He saws and sews people up, I help hold them steady then write out the requisition for blades and needles. Would you like to see around the place?”
The captains nodded and Wicksteed bowed. “Very well. This room we have reserved for surgery. As you see, men can be brought in direct from the wharf, and there is space for seven at a time, we think.”
Hugh could not help feeling the man came a little too close for comfort. He was as slender as Hawkshaw, but his movements seemed more sinuous. He held his hands together when he spoke, though the right would occasionally swim out to emphasize some point of the preparations made, only to be firmly clasped again by the left, as if it were a wayward animal in need of control. It seemed as though he was stirring the air between them into something more dense and difficult to breathe.
They made their way through a broad corridor into a larger space, hurrying to keep up with Wicksteed’s brisk pace.
“In this main area we will keep most of the beds, and we have a store of straw laid in.” Again the right hand flew up to describe in the air a cartload. “The space is the largest continuous one in the building, and of course we believe the high ceilings may provide a quantity of clean air, it being so beneficial in a sickroom, I am told.”
“It is indeed a large space, Wicksteed. I hope we may have no occasion to fill it,” Hawkshaw said. Wicksteed blinked at him, then shrugged.
“As you say. Though we are at present one of only two proper hospitals in the town, and there are a great many of us soldiers, sir, running about the place. And though we have been lucky to avoid great sickness so far, who knows what the summer may bring.”
“I presume, Wicksteed-” as Hugh began to speak, the man swung his whole body round to face him-“that prisoners will be treated in Stone Jail?”
“As you say. Who knows if these rebels are the sort to carry off their wounded with them, or leave them to us to deal with? There are family bonds between many of them, most likely, and shared blood can make a man carry his comrade farther than he should, I believe. The only family that has ever carried me anywhere has been the army, and I’ve yet to see if it’s taken me anywhere to my advantage. Any they leave behind will likely be beyond our help.”
“You like your work then, Wicksteed?” Hawkshaw asked after a pause.
The man shrugged again, and slouched against the wall. “For the moment, Captain Hawkshaw. We must take the chances that come to us.”
Hugh was becoming bored. “All is in good hands here, Hawkshaw. Shall we return and report?”
“I am with you, Thornleigh.”
Wicksteed’s comments on blood ties had irritated Hugh out of his usual good humor. They itched as if the man’s sharp white teeth had bitten him. Back in his own quarters he found himself thinking of his brother Alexander for the first time in years. They had hardly known each other, sent to separate establishments for young gentlemen soon after their mother had died, but Hugh had always been glad to see him. He was rather more bookish, perhaps, than Hugh’s chosen friends, but they dealt well enough together.
In the end Alexander had grown up under the protection of a family rather than in the dog eat dog world of thrashings and bad food that served for an education among the upper classes. He had removed himself from his own school before he was ten years old and declared he would live with a Mr. Ariston-Grey in Chiswick. The man was a gentleman and musician. Their father had thought the idea ridiculous, but faced with Alexander’s calm determination he had in the end relented. Or rather ceased to care about the matter and let his heir do what he would.
In that house Alexander had met his wife. He remained there until his majority, and then moved no further from them than into a neighboring street, ignoring the fashions and habits of his own class, though his allowance was generous and unconditional. Hugh heard him speak of the lady only once, the last time the brothers were at the Hall together. They had ridden out to the northerly edge of Thornleigh’s lands, and as they watched the light play across the expanses that were Alexander’s to inherit along with the earldom and all the pomp great position can bestow, he had told his brother simply that he had met the woman he would love to the end of his days and meant to marry her. Hugh had laughed at first, unused to such soft language spoken between men, but the serene, almost sympathetic smile his brother had given him in return had stopped the sound in his throat and made him serious.
“Is she suitable?” he asked.
“No,” Alexander smiled. “She is perfect-but not suitable. I will speak to Lord Thornleigh, but I suspect he will cut me off. Very well. Elizabeth has inherited a little money, I have saved more from the allowance my father has made me, and my education has made it more possible for me to earn a living than many men of my class. We will take ourselves into London and see how we shift.”
“You will work?” Hugh asked, rather shocked.
“Yes! Many people do, you know. And I would rather have Elizabeth’s love and work for it than …” He lifted his hand and let it sketch out the landscape in front of him, “… all of this.”
“How romantic!”
His brother reached into his coat pocket, producing a miniature in a silver case which he flipped open to show his brother. It revealed a remarkably pretty woman, smiling at the observer with wide blue eyes.
“I was standing behind the artist as he made his sketches. This is how she looks at me. Now, don’t you think she is worth it?”
Hugh turned away from the little picture, saying, “How could any woman be worth this sacrifice? And what do you mean to do when my father dies? Will you come and reclaim the estate then?”
Alexander frowned. “I may be tempted to reappear, but I think not. When Lord Thornleigh dies, you may declare me dead and become an earl yourself, for all I care.”
“Thank you.”
His brother tried to explain. “I know you must think it odd, Hugh, but I have never found happiness here, except in your company perhaps. With Elizabeth I am happy every single day. That seems a greater gift than all the pomp and gilt my father bathes himself in.”
“I wish you well,” Hugh mumbled.
“Thank you. And Hugh, should you need me in years to come, you will find a way to discover me, I am sure. There are ties that bind us together, bonds of blood beyond titles and land. If you cannot free yourself, call for me, and I shall come to you in some way or other.”
Alexander clicked his tongue, and his horse shook its mane and started down the flank of the hill.
PART II
1
SATURDAY, 3 JUNE 1780
Harriet Westerman’s duties for the day started early. Her destination was a narrow room in the upper corridor at Caveley, where she knew from the moment daylight woke her, Mrs. Belinda Mortimer would be at work. Mrs. Mortimer sewed for several houses in the neighborhood, spending from time to time two or three days at each to deal with the linen and dresses of the ladies, and doing whatever fine-work fashion and utility suggested to the gentry. Fabrics were not cheap, and nothing that could be used again or altered would be replaced by any but the most improvident. The woman was no gossip, however, and Harriet knew she would not be able to bully her into confessing the deeds and misdeeds of her other clients. No one liked a servant who was known to talk intimately of the families she visited, after all. She paused for a moment, reflecting on this, before pushing open the door to the room reserved for Mrs. Mortimer’s use.