Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter. Cathy’s First Letter.
18 January 1024, L’Isle du Grand-Blaireau
Amelia,
I have been invited to go on a sleigh ride.
Yesterday I met one Lt. Samuel Harkness of His Majesty’s Royal Army, a member of the garrison here in Bois-de-Bas, and the officer responsible for the egregious Private Ryan I wrote of last week. I went to see His Napes about the tea towels, shortly before we were to start seating our guests for dinner, and found him in conference with a tall fellow in His Majesty’s uniform.
“And here is Miss Gamble now,” said His Napes. He smiled at me. “Darlin’, this is Lt. Samuel Harkness. He has a few words he’d like to say.”
The lieutenant turned to face me. He moved and stood squarely, as though he was on the parade ground, and I saw that he was older than I had expected: not the young lad fresh from public school, but one who had surely held his rank for five or six years.
“Miss Gamble,” he said, inclining his head. “I must apologize to you for the actions of Private Ryan in this establishment, and thank you for your forbearance with Private Hoxney who spoke to you afterwards. They have both been confined to quarters.”
“Private Hoxney!” I said in some surprise. “But he did nothing wrong. Indeed, I thought him quite well-mannered for a private soldier.”
“I thank you for your kind words, miss,” he said, inclining his head once more. “But they should neither of them have been here. The men of the garrison were warned by Captain Stevens not to trouble the quality.”
His manner was as stiff as his posture, his tone as severe as his neatly trimmed mustache, but he did not seem angry; rather, it struck me that he was doing his duty, and that it pleased him to do his duty.
I raised an eyebrow. “Hoxney only came to try to keep his fellow out of trouble, so he told me. He was not inebriated when I spoke to him, and I feel confident he gave you a clear and accurate account of the whole affair. Surely it was his duty to do so, if he couldn’t persuade Ryan not to come?”
Harkness seemed slightly taken aback. “Perhaps it is so, Miss Gamble. Once again, you have my thanks.”
And with that he turned to His Napes.
“Ryan won’t be troubling you again, Captain Montjoy,” he said, and began to salute.
“None of that, lieutenant,” said His Napes with a grin. “I’m out of uniform, and I’m retired. Call me Jack. Now, the caravan isn’t returning to town until later, so I hope you’ll join our guests for dinner.” And with that, he swept Harkness out of the room.
I did not speak with the lieutenant again that evening, but I noticed his eyes on me when I passed through the dining room, and later in the King’s Parlor. I didn’t think much of it; as His Nape’s hostess I am meant to be visible.
“So, we’re the quality?” I asked His Napes over our dram that evening.
“Course we are, darlin’, the best there is,” he laughed. “What else? Though I expect Captain Stevens had our guests in mind.”
We had a larger crowd than usual for dinner two nights following, it being Saturday, and so I was helping Corinne and Lucie to serve. I brought out a platter of mutton chops “for the military gentleman,” so I was told, and was amusing myself with the notion of serving mutton chops to an officer with mutton chops when I discovered I was putting the platter in front of Harkness. Who, it needs to be said, does not wear mutton chops.
“Thank you, Miss Gamble,” he said stiffly, but with a slight warmth I had not heard from him before.
“You’re welcome,” I responded, and whisked myself away.
He has been back several times since, on quieter nights; and at the end of yesterday evening he came and found me.
He assumed his parade ground stance, holding his cap under his arm. “Miss Gamble,” he said, “I hope I find you well?”
“Quite well, lieutenant. Thank you for your concern.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He paused, looked down, looked up again. “It would give me the greatest of pleasure,” he said, “if you would join me for a sleigh ride this Sunday afternoon after divine services.”
It is fortunate that life with Brother John taught me to think on my feet.
“Thank you, lieutenant, but I have a social obligation. On Sunday afternoons I dine with the Tuppennys, and then go with them to the hot springs.” I have written you of my discomfort with the weekly visits to the hot springs with the ladies of Bois-de-Bas, but I thanked the Good Lord for them now. I admit to using the word “obligation” with an eye to the lieutenant’s sense of duty, Amelia, but I am from a country town, and it truly is an obligation.
He inclined his head. “Perhaps another time, then. A good evening to you.”
“You’ve found an admirer,” His Napes said to me later.
“So it seems,” I said and sighed deeply.
“Lieutenants,” he said, nodding. “Horrible objects, didn’t I say? But he’s out of the usual, you know.”
“Is he?”
“Oh, yes. The Honourable Samuel Harkness, son of the Baron of Puxley, so Captain Steven tells me. Impoverished family, don’t you know, or his father would have purchased him a captaincy by now. Tradition of military service. Good soldier, knows his duty and he does it.”
“So I gather,” I said. “But I’d as soon be admired by a wooden post.”
“Which he somewhat resembles, darlin’, I agree. Still, you could do worse.”
I would prefer better, myself.
Cathy
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Zymurgia House 