It was a truly impressive gathering in London’s Hyde Park. One hundred thousand civilian spectators watched as a huge military guard of honour wearing red uniforms formed up on foot and on horseback.
Ian stood beside Molly Williams, who was holding her dainty parasol against the morning sun of the London summer. Only a few scattered high-flying clouds broke the brilliant blue of the sky.
At the centre of this great formation sat the Queen on a magnificent horse. Ian had a clear view of her and thought how short she was but still attractive. Standing beside the mount was the tall and handsome Prince Consort, husband of the Queen.
‘I can’t see him,’ Molly said anxiously.
‘You will,’ Ian reassured.
On a dais draped in a red cloth, attendants to the Queen held platters laid out with the newly issued medals the monarch had instituted and named in her honour. Then the line of recipients marched forward, and each of the sixty-two medals was pinned on a soldier or officer’s chest as the Queen leaned down from her horse.
‘Sergeant Curry!’ Conan’s name was called and Molly raised up on her toes to witness this historic moment. She could not hear Queen Victoria utter the words as Conan halted smartly, saluted, standing rigidly at attention.
The spectators politely clapped their appreciation, and Conan saluted one more time before turning and marching back to the ranks of the regiment. Ian noticed how the Prince Consort bowed to each of the men receiving the new medal of the Victoria Cross, a medal cut out of the barrel of a Russian artillery gun captured at the fall of Sevastopol. Ian’s recommendation for Conan to be awarded a medal for bravery had been countersigned by General Outram whilst in Persia.
When the ceremony was completed, the gathered military units presented their salute to the Queen as she rode off the temporary parade ground. Military bands struck up tunes to entertain those civilians remaining to enjoy the beautiful summer’s day.
Eventually Conan and Corporal Owen Williams made their way through the crowd to join Ian and Molly.
Molly ignored all social protocols and flung herself into Conan’s arms, kissing him.
‘Congratulations, Conan, but I should parade you for being out of uniform,’ Ian grinned.
‘Sir?’ Conan queried with a confused frown.
‘You should be wearing the rank of sergeant major now, not sergeant. Your promotion has been approved. I should also have you charged, Corporal Williams. You can use Conan’s sergeant chevrons as he will no longer be needing them. Congratulations, Sergeant Williams.’
It took a few seconds for Ian’s words to sink in, and then both soldiers broke into grateful smiles. Promotion meant better wages.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Owen replied, and Ian shook both soldiers’ hands. ‘No doubt the three of you will be off to celebrate. I know Colour Sergeant Leslie is lining up ales at the pub near our barracks, and he told me that you will be paying.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Conan said. ‘I am not sure even our promotion will afford us the payment for so many ales.’
‘I know you both have a little gold stashed away, and I am sure it could be put to good use this day,’ Ian said. ‘Molly, I am commissioning you to ensure your brother and Sergeant Major Curry behave themselves.’
Molly leaned forward and kissed Ian on the cheek. ‘Thank you, sir, for all that you have done for my Conan and my Owen. You have made good men out of them.’
Ian shook his head. ‘They did that themselves,’ he replied gently. ‘Go now and enjoy this very special day.’
Ian stepped back and saluted Conan. ‘New rule in the army,’ he explained. ‘Even an officer must salute an enlisted man if he is wearing the Victoria Cross.’
Conan returned the salute. ‘It is you who should have been awarded the medal for all that you did for us in the Crimea. But I know while our colonel is in command he will never recognise your courage.’
Ian did not comment but he knew Jenkins hated him and, he suspected, wished to see him dead.
‘Go off with you,’ Ian said and the three disappeared into the crowd to make their way to the pub.
Ian stood for a moment amongst the dispersing crowd of ladies in long white summer dresses and gentlemen in tall top hats and suits.
‘Congratulations, Captain Steele,’ a familiar female voice said behind him.
He turned to see the beautiful face of Lady Rebecca Montegue. She was standing a few paces away, wearing an elegant summer dress and holding a parasol. Rebecca was the living image of her twin sister, Jane. The two girls had been separated just after they were born and Rebecca had been adopted by the wealthy Montegue family, inheriting the titles and estates of the now deceased Lord Montegue. It was Jane who had revealed Ian’s secret to her sister.
‘Oh, have no fear, Captain Steele, I have never broken my promise to keep secret your identity,’ Rebecca said with a sweet smile. ‘I am only here to congratulate you on your recommendation for Sergeant Curry’s medal. I know Clive attempted to have your report quashed but was overruled by General Outram.’
‘Thank you, Lady Montegue,’ Ian replied.
‘There is no need for such formalities between us, Ian,’ Rebecca said. ‘After all, under other circumstances you might have been my brother-in-law. Have you learned anything concerning my sister’s disappearance?’
‘Nothing,’ Ian said. ‘I am forced to confront the idea that someone may have murdered Jane.’
‘I suspect that you are correct,’ Rebecca said sadly. ‘I have terrible dreams of a ring of small stones on a hilltop near my sister’s village. The place we first met, when you thought at first I was Jane. I suppose that is because Jane had a spiritual connection to that old Druid place of worship.’
‘Strange,’ Ian frowned. ‘I have a similar dream that troubles my sleep,’ he said. ‘It is as if Jane haunts that desolate place.’
‘I suspect, though, that you do not believe in ghosts, given you have demonstrated what a practical soldier you are,’ Rebecca said. ‘I do not believe that those we love come back to haunt us either, but I have faith that you will discover who is responsible for my sister’s disappearance.’
‘I have no real leads, although I suspect Charles Forbes,’ Ian said.
‘If Charles knew that my sister carried your child, that may have been enough reason to kill her,’ Rebecca agreed.
‘I have considered that,’ Ian said. ‘But I cannot exact revenge without evidence. If I do prove Charles is her murderer, I will ensure he is slain.’
‘You will be my angel of vengeance,’ Rebecca replied, then changed the subject. ‘There is to be a ball at my estate the week before Clive’s regiment steams for India. Your name will be on the invitation list, and also that of the charming young girl you escorted to my last ball.’
‘I am afraid Miss Solomon and I are not on speaking terms,’ Ian said gloomily.
‘That’s a shame, I thought you made a very handsome couple,’ Rebecca said.
Ian did not wish to discuss his relationship with Ella. ‘It is well known that you have often been seen in the company of Colonel Jenkins. Do you intend to wed him?’
‘It is presumptuous of you to ask me such a personal question,’ Rebecca replied. ‘But as you occupy a rather unique place in my life, I will tell you that I do intend to accept Clive’s offer of marriage when he asks.’
‘Why?’ Ian asked.
‘Because he is a man I will one day guide to becoming the prime minister of England. We both know Clive does not have what it takes to lead men in battle, but he does have the acumen to become a politician of renown, particularly if his family fortune is married to mine. Ah, I see that Clive is just over there.’ Rebecca and Ian turned to see Jenkins standing with a group of senior officers some yards away. ‘I will bid you a good morning, Captain Forbes. Do not forget my invitation. I look forward to seeing you again.’
Rebecca strolled away, leaving Ian alone to ponder their meeting. He understood that his real identity was known to a woman who could easily expose him, and yet she chose to protect him, despite her alliance with one of his most hated enemies. It was apparent Rebecca Montegue liked to play games, but Ian was perplexed by her attraction to Clive Jenkins, if indeed that was what it was. He knew one thing, and that was that the invitation to her ball was more an order than a request. Ian groaned. He had never liked the pomp and ceremony of the English aristocrats; he was more at home in the field with his infantry company. He watched as Rebecca laughed with the high-ranking officers and placed her gloved hand on Clive Jenkins’ arm. He could not understand how twins could be so similar in appearance and yet so different in character.
*
Sergeant Major Conan Curry lay on the double bed in Molly’s room above her shop. Colour Sergeant Paddy Leslie had organised a huge celebration at their favourite pub – at no small cost to Conan and Owen. The ale had flowed and tankards were repeatedly raised in toasts. Predictably, it had ended in a brawl when a group of engineers entered the establishment, but no one could remember why the fight had started. The regimental men were able to extract themselves before the constabulary arrived, and now Conan lay beside Molly.
‘You were a disgrace, Conan Curry,’ she said, but without venom. ‘Captain Forbes would have been ashamed of you and Owen if he had been present. The captain has been very good to you both.’
Conan groaned. One of the engineers had been a big, powerful soldier who had connected a heavy blow to Conan’s jaw and he had lost a couple of teeth. Or perhaps the drunkenness was turning now into a hangover. ‘Captain Forbes and I go a long way back,’ he slurred. ‘All the way to New South Wales when he was the village blacksmith, and me and my brothers did a bit of bushranging.’
‘What are you babbling about?’ Molly scoffed. ‘How could you know Captain Forbes before you enlisted?’
Conan paused. The ale had loosened his tongue. On reflection he felt that in the privacy of the bedroom nothing he said could do any harm. And this was Molly, the woman he loved, and someone who could be relied upon to keep the captain’s secret. ‘He is not Captain Forbes,’ he admitted. ‘His real name is Ian Steele and he has fooled the Forbes family into believing that he is one of them.’
Shocked, Molly hardly believed Conan’s confession. Were these simply drunken ramblings?
‘Are you saying that Captain Forbes is an imposter?’ Molly asked.
‘Ian Steele is the best man I have ever known, and the boys would follow him into hell if he asked,’ Conan said, gripping his head in both hands. ‘You cannot tell anyone what I have just told you.’
‘You know that I love you, and anything you tell me within these walls remains a secret between us.’
‘You swear?’ Conan demanded, realising that he had said more than he should.
‘I swear on my love for you,’ Molly replied. She was mesmerised as her lover went on to tell her about the history of the real Ian Steele. Conan even confessed to his role in the robbery that had resulted in the death of Ian’s mother. Molly did not speak a word as the tale of the contract between English aristocrat and colonial blacksmith unravelled.
‘So there it is,’ Conan concluded. ‘Now I need to get some sleep because it will be my duty to parade the company for inspection in the morning.’
Molly rested Conan’s head in her lap as he fell into a fitful sleep. She was secretly pleased to learn that Ian was not the brother of Charles Forbes, who had once attempted to rape her when she worked for the Forbes family at their manor in Kent. Conan had told her that the men in the regiment had given Ian the nickname of ‘the Colonial’ and she thought, If only they knew.
The fact that Conan had confided the secret to her only made her love the big Irishman even more. They had all come a long way from the slum tenements of the inner city since the day Conan and Owen were on the run from the law and had to enlist in the British army to avoid arrest by the London police. War in the Crimea had financed her business enterprise with Russian loot, and after this last campaign, Owen had produced a small fortune in gold coins. Whoever Captain Ian Steele was, it only mattered to her that his deception had brought them good fortune.
His secret would always be safe with her.
*
The cross-Channel steamer to Calais had been part of the ruse to ensure that Samuel and James were not spotted leaving on a clipper sailing for the Americas. Ikey Solomon had been sure that private investigator Charles Field would be keeping a close eye on all the New York–bound vessels with the hope of intercepting his target. New passports in new names had been procured for the two men, so from France they would be able to book a passage home. As they waited to embark, they would have the chance to take in the sights and pleasures of Paris. This they did before eventually taking berth on a ship to the United States two weeks later.
However, the clipper had hardly left Calais to sail south when it was hit by a furious Atlantic-born gale, forcing it to seek shelter at the English port of Dover and remain there whilst substantial repairs were made to its sails and rigging.
James and Samuel shared a small but clean first-class cabin, and though a little perturbed, James was not overly concerned that they were once again in British waters. After all, the odds were low that any of Charles’ paid informants would suspect a ship leaving from a French port could be their means of escape. If anything, they would be still watching ships departing English ports. They simply had to lie low and wait it out.
James poured gin for himself and Samuel into tumblers.
‘Well, I did not expect to be back in England so soon, and I must say that I already miss the beauty of Paris.’ James noticed Samuel gazing through a porthole at the wharves and docks of Dover. The gale had abated and the sun was shining in the early morning.
‘Do you know, we are only a short carriage ride from our manor’s chapel,’ Samuel said, accepting the glass of gin.
‘You aren’t thinking of going ashore,’ James groaned, aghast. ‘We were damned lucky to get out of London.’
Samuel turned away from the porthole. ‘We are safe, dear James,’ he said. ‘I could easily visit my brother’s memorial and be back before the ship sails again.’
James pulled a face that displayed his frustration. ‘I beseech you to reconsider yet another of your lunatic aspirations. We will not be safe until we are on our way back to New York.’
‘I am sorry, James, but the opportunity is too good to ignore. It is as if this unforeseen deliverance to Dover has been granted me by God. Nobody would suspect we are here. You know how important it is for me to honour my little brother’s death.’
‘I doubt that you believe there is a God,’ James scoffed. ‘But your goddamned stubbornness will bring us undone.’
‘I do not request you to accompany me,’ Samuel said, taking a long swig of the gin. ‘I would never put you at risk.’
James stepped forward, placing his hands on Samuel’s shoulders. ‘Despite your insanity, you know I would never allow you to face danger alone. If you insist on a visit to your brother’s memorial, I will be going with you.’
Samuel had hoped that James would insist on accompanying him. He did not want to be parted from him. Since Jonathan, he had recognised that James was the only other man he would ever love in his life.
‘Thank you, dear James,’ Samuel said, tears welling in his eyes. ‘We will arrange to leave immediately and be back before the ship sails.’
When Samuel turned to pack a few items, James shook his head, hoping that his lover was making the right judgement. Somehow he had his doubts.
*
Ian was announced on arrival in the magnificent ballroom at Lady Rebecca Montegue’s manor just outside London. It was a dazzling affair of colourful military uniforms, glittering gowns and jewellery and a multitude of candles flickering soft shadows on the guests both military and civilian. Ian noted that all the officers of his regiment were in attendance, which was not surprising as the invitation had described the event as the farewell ball for the regiment before it steamed to India. He wore his own dress uniform and blended in with his military colleagues.
Ian took a coupe of champagne offered him by a servant wearing an old Georgian wig and equally ornate dress uniform.
‘Here, sir, your dance card,’ the servant said, passing Ian a slip of paper.
Ian hardly looked at the card, slipping it inside his dress jacket. He took a sip of champagne and glanced around at the guests already on the polished timbered floor for a quadrille. The regimental band struck up and Ian expected they would play until midnight when the guests broke for supper. He knew he would be bored by then as he had come alone, as prescribed by the invitation.
He saw Rebecca enter the dance floor on the arm of Jenkins, and he swallowed the last of his drink, looking around for a servant to replenish his empty glass.
As he did so, his eyes fell on a sight that almost caused him to drop the crystal coupe. ‘God almighty!’
It was Ella, standing alone on the other side of the dance floor. She was holding a small fan and wearing a voluminous silk dress drawn in tightly at the waist, her shoulders bare. She appeared a little bemused and when she turned her head and caught sight of Ian, her expression mirrored his amazement.
Ian made his way around the tables to her.
‘Ella! What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘I would ask the same of you,’ she replied. ‘I was assured by Lady Montegue that you would not be attending tonight. That is the only reason I accepted her unexpected invitation.’
‘Did your invitation specify that it was for you alone?’ Ian asked, a suspicion forming in his mind.
‘Yes, it did,’ Ella replied, and Ian broke into a crooked grin.
‘That is no accident,’ he said, and remembered the dance card in his jacket. He retrieved it and saw his and Ella’s names inscribed for a waltz following the quadrille. The quadrille had now finished and when the floor was clear, the bandmaster announced the next dance was a waltz.
‘I believe this is our dance,’ Ian said, taking Ella’s elbow to escort her onto the floor.
He placed his arm around her waist and they stepped off in time to the rhythm of the music.
‘I said that I would never see you again,’ Ella said. ‘Has fate brought us together tonight?’
‘No, not fate but the scheming of Lady Montegue,’ Ian replied. ‘But I cannot think of a more beautiful woman to be in my arms right now.’
Ella blushed, tightening her hand on Ian’s. It was said that the waltz was a licentious dance, leading to fornication, and for a moment Ian hoped that was true. With this beautiful young woman in his arms, floating across the polished floor together, his attempt to distance himself from her was forgotten.
‘I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we loved?’ Ian said softly.
‘Were we not weaned till then?’ Ella said, looking into Ian’s eyes. ‘You are certainly a man of many surprises, Samuel Forbes. John Donne, “The Good Morrow”. I would not expect a man whose life is devoted to soldiering to understand the pure romanticism of such a poem. I think we both understand its meaning, do we not?’
Just then the music stopped and the dancers left the floor. Ian was about to say something when he saw Rebecca gesturing to him. He escorted Ella to a table where some of the younger officers of the regiment were engaged in sipping claret and smoking cigars.
‘Look after this lady, gentlemen,’ he commanded as he pulled out her chair. ‘I will be returning.’
The young officers said they would be delighted, and as Ian walked away he wondered if leaving Ella alone with those handsome and eligible men was such a good idea.
‘I am pleased to see that you have been following your dance card,’ Rebecca said with a smile.
‘You planned this,’ Ian said without any rancour. ‘Why?’
‘Let us just say that I learned that you have dealings with Miss Solomon’s father and that he is a man with a formidable reputation for getting things done. I also remember that you escorted his daughter to her debut ball and he was very grateful. I gather that you have been seen many times in her company since, and when I look at the young lady, I can see why any man would risk the ire of Ikey Solomon. But he would have to be a very brave – or foolish – man to do that, and I know you are not foolish. You must have strong feelings for Miss Solomon. I ask that you escort her home after the ball. I promised Mr Solomon you would do that for him.’
‘Good Lord!’ Ian said. ‘Jane was never this conniving.’
‘It is because of my sister’s memory that I have courted favour with Mr Solomon,’ Rebecca replied. ‘When the time comes for justice to be dispensed, I know he will be able to assist. Besides, if Clive does one day become prime minister, it will not hurt to have Mr Solomon as a discreet friend.’
Ian stared at Rebecca. ‘I do hope I never get on the wrong side of you, Lady Montegue.’
She smiled warmly. ‘I should also mention that when you escort Miss Solomon home, it will be in her carriage. Mr Solomon has arranged this with his man, Egbert.’
Egbert. Ian knew the employee as a tough and dangerous thug. Thoughts of the remainder of John Donne’s poem melted away. Egbert was more than capable of breaking bones with his bare hands. He was almost as dangerous as Rebecca Montegue. She was one of the most manipulative people he had encountered but he respected her strategic mind. Ian almost felt sorry for Colonel Clive Jenkins in the hands of his future wife.
‘You know,’ Ian said, shaking his head, ‘you would be a far more suitable commanding officer of our regiment than Colonel Jenkins. You have a fine head for tactics.’
‘Ah, but it is well accepted that we ladies are simple, weak and frivolous creatures. It is not in us to be leaders, but simply the bearers of children and keepers of the house.’ She gazed guilelessly at him.
Ian smiled broadly. He was not fooled for a moment.