Page 266 of The Armor of Light
When the grave was filled in she dropped the spade on the ground and wept until she had no more tears to shed. Then she said: ‘That’s it, then, Jarge.’
She stood by the grave a little longer, until it was too dark to see.
She spoke to him for the last time. ‘Goodbye, Jarge,’ she said. ‘I’m glad I got you them taters.’
Then she walked away.
PART SEVEN
The Peace
1815 to 1824
44
AFTER THE ALLIES ENTEREDPARIS, Napoleon Bonaparte abdicated for the second time and was imprisoned, this time on the remote mid-Atlantic island of St Helena, two thousand miles west of Cape Town and two thousand five hundred miles east of Rio de Janeiro.
The 107th Foot returned to Kingsbridge, as did the earl of Shiring, his wife Jane and their boy Hal. Two days later Amos, who had arrived home a little earlier, got a note from Jane asking him to call at Willard House for tea.
He found her unpacking, her travel-stained trunks around her on the drawing-room carpet. With the help of a laundrymaid she was picking up her magnificent gowns one at a time and deciding whether they should be sponged and pressed, or washed, or given away. ‘Peace at last!’ she said to Amos. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’
‘Now we can get back to normal life,’ said Amos. ‘If any of us can remember what that was like.’
‘I can remember,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m going to enjoy it.’
Amos studied her. She was forty-two, he calculated, and she had remained slim and attractive. For many years he had adored her, but now he could be objective. He still liked her joie de vivre, which was what made her sexy; but now he often noticed her calculating look and the selfish pout as she schemed to manipulate people.
He said: ‘How is the earl? He’s lucky to have survived a head wound.’
‘You’ll see,’ she said. ‘He’ll join us in a minute or two.’ The reference to the battle led her thoughts to another casualty, and she said: ‘Poor Elsie Mackintosh, with five children and no husband.’
‘I’m sorry Mackintosh died. He turned into a brave man, you know, after he became an army chaplain.’
‘Still, you can marry Elsie now.’
Amos frowned. ‘Whatever makes you think I would marry Elsie Mackintosh?’ he said crossly.
‘The way you danced with her at the duchess of Richmond’s ball. I’ve never seen you so happy.’
‘Really.’ Amos was more irritated because she was right. He had had a wonderful time. ‘That doesn’t mean I want to marry her,’ he said.
‘No, of course not,’ Jane said, with a dismissive gesture of her hand. ‘It was just a thought.’
A butler brought in a tea tray, and Jane cleared space on a sofa and two armchairs. Amos thought about what she had said. He had been happy with Elsie in his arms, it was true, but that did not mean he loved her. He was fond of her. He admired her for her courage in defying everyone to feed the children of striking mill hands. He was never bored when he was with her. All that, but not love.
Recalling the ball, he remembered how much he had liked the intimacy of the waltz, touching Elsie’s body, warm through the silk of her gown, and he realized he would like to do that again.
But dancing was not marriage.
Jane said to the maid: ‘Take away the clothes I’ve looked at, and the empty trunks, then come back in half an hour and we’ll do the rest.’ She sat down and poured tea.
The earl appeared in uniform. His head was bandaged and he walked rather unsteadily. Amos stood to shake his hand, then looked at him hard as he sat down and accepted a cup of tea from Jane. ‘How are you feeling, my lord?’ Amos asked.
‘Never better!’ said Henry, but he said it too quickly and too assertively, as if he needed to deny the opposite.
‘Congratulations on the part you played in winning the greatest battle ever.’
‘Wellington was absolutely astonishing. Brilliant.’
