Ричард Вудмен - The shadow of the eagle

'I am glad that you are here,' she said, 'and almost in one piece.'

He drew her closer and lowered his voice, 'And I am glad you brought Catriona.'

James Quilhampton's widow walked behind them on the arm of Lieutenant Frey, who looked, to Drinkwater's surprise, as sunny as the morning.

'Do you think we shall hear more wedding bells?' he began, when Elizabeth silenced him with a sharp elbow in his ribs.

'You shout, sir,' she teased, her voice low. 'You are not upon your quarterdeck now.'

Drinkwater smiled ruefully. No, he was not, nor likely to be again...

'I should have liked you to have brought your surgeon, so that I might thank him for saving your arm.' Elizabeth had been uncharacteristically angry when she had learned of her husband's wound, remonstrating with him that he had doubtless exposed himself unnecessarily, just as the war was over and she might reasonably expect to have him home permanently. Drinkwater had not argued; in essence she was quite right and he understood her fear of widowhood.

'Oh,' chuckled Drinkwater, 'Mr Kennedy is not a man for this sort of social occasion.'

'I shall write to him, nevertheless.'

'He would appreciate that very much.'

Ahead of them the bride and groom, now Lieutenant and Mrs Frederic Marlowe, turned into Albemarle Street, followed by the best man and brother-in-law to the groom, Lieutenant Josiah Ashton. Only a very sharp-eyed and uncharitable observer would have remarked the bride's condition as expectant, or her white silk dress as a trifle reprehensible in the circumstances.

Sarah looked round and smiled at the little column behind her and her husband. A gallant, pausing on the corner, raised his beaver as a compliment.

'Damned pretty girl,' Drinkwater remarked.

'And I don't mean you to turn into a country squire with an eye to every comely young woman,' Elizabeth chid him.

'I doubt that I shall turn into anything other than what you wish, my dear,' Drinkwater said smoothly, then watched apprehensively as a small dog ran up and down the party, yapping with excitement.

They had just turned into and crossed Albemarle Street when a man stepped out of a doorway in the act of putting on his hat. He almost bumped into Drinkwater and recoiled with an apology.

'I do beg your pardon sir.' The gleam of recognition kindled in his eye. 'Ah, it is Captain Drinkwater, is it not? Good morning to you.'

Drinkwater recognized him at once and stopped. Behind them Frey and Catriona Quilhampton were forced to follow suit.

'Why Mr Barrow!' He turned to his wife. 'Elizabeth, may I present Mr Barrow, Second Secretary to their Lordships at the Admiralty. Mr Barrow, my wife ...'

Barrow removed his hat and bent over Elizabeth's extended hand.

'I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs Drinkwater. I have long esteemed your husband.'

'Thank you, sir. So have I.'

'Mr Barrow,' Drinkwater said hurriedly, 'may I present Lieutenant Frey, a most able officer and an accomplished artist and surveyor, and Mrs Catriona Quilhampton, widow of the late Lieutenant James Quilhampton, a most deserving officer ...'

'Madam, my sympathies. I recall your husband died in the Vikkenfiord.' Barrow displayed his prodigious memory with a courtly smile and turned to Frey. 'I have just called on Murray the publisher, Mr Frey, perhaps you should offer some of your watercolours for engraving; I presume you do watercolours ...'

'Indeed, sir, yes, often at sea of conspicuous features, islands and the like.' Frey was conscious of being put on the spot.

'Well perhaps Mr Murray might consider them for publication; could you supply some text? The observations and jottings of a naval officer during the late war, perhaps? Now I should think the public might take a great liking to that, such is their thirst for glory at the moment.'

'I, er, I am not certain, sir ...'

'Well,' said Barrow briskly, 'nothing ventured, nothing gained. I must get on and you have fallen far behind your party.'

They drew apart and then Barrow swung back. 'Oh, Captain, I almost forgot, I have a letter for you from Bushey Park. Are you staying in Lord North Street?'

'Indeed.'

'Very well, I shall have it sent round; it will be there by the time you have concluded your present business...' Barrow looked up the street at the retreating wedding party. 'The Marlowe wedding I presume.'

'Yes.'

'Well, I wish them joy. Mesdames, gentlemen, good day' And raising his hat again, Barrow was gone.

'What an extraordinary man,' observed Elizabeth.

'Yes, he is, and a remarkable one as well. Frey, I hope you did not mind my mentioning your talent.'

'You flattered me over much, sir.'

'Not at all, Frey, not at all. Mr Barrow is an influential body and not one you can afford to ignore.' Drinkwater nodded at the brass plate on the door from which Barrow had just emerged, adding, 'And he is a man of diverse parts. He contributes to The Quarterly Review for Mr Murray, I understand. Now we must step out, or be lost to our hosts.'

'What is the significance of a letter from Bushey Park, Nathaniel?' Elizabeth asked as they hurried on.

'It is the residence of Prince William Henry, my dear.'

'The Duke of Clarence?'

'The same. And admiral-of-the-fleet to boot.'

'Lord, lord,' remarked Elizabeth smiling mockingly, 'I wonder what so august a prince has to say to my husband?'

'I haven't the remotest idea,' Drinkwater replied, but the news cast a shadow over the proceedings, ending the period of carefree irresponsibility Drinkwater had enjoyed since leaving Angra and replacing it with a niggle of worry.

'One would think', he muttered to himself, 'that a cracked arm would be sufficient to trouble a man.'

'I did not quite catch you,' Elizabeth said as they reached Lothian's Hotel.

'Nothing, m'dear, nothing at all.'

'Congratulations, Frederic; she is a most beautiful young woman and you are a fortunate man.' Drinkwater raised his glass.

'I owe you a great deal, sir,' said Marlowe, looking round at the glittering assembly.

'Think nothing of it, my dear fellow.'

'There was a time when the prospect of this day seemed as remote as meeting the Great Chan.'

'Or Napoleon himself!' Drinkwater jested.

'Indeed, sir.'

'It is a curious fact about the sea-officer's life,' Drinkwater expanded, warmed by the wine and the cordiality of the occasion, 'that it is almost impossible to imagine yourself in a situation you knew yourself to have been in a sennight past.'

'I know exactly what you mean, sir.'

'The past is often meaningless; enjoy the present, it is all we have.' Drinkwater ignored the insidious promptings of ghosts and smiled.

'That is very true.' Marlowe sipped at his wine.

'How is Ashton?' Drinkwater asked, looking at the young officer across the room where he was in polite conversation with an elderly couple.

'As decent a fellow as can be imagined. Shall I forgive him the past too?'

'If you have a mind to. It is sometimes best; though I should keep him at arm's length and not be eager to confide over much in him.'

'No, no, of course not.' Marlowe paused and smiled at a passing guest.

'I am keeping you from your duties.'

'Not at all, sir. I should consider it an honour to meet your wife, sir.'

'Oh, good heavens, forgive me ...'

They walked over to where Elizabeth was in conversation with Lieutenant Hyde and a young woman whose name Drinkwater did not know but who seemed much attached to the handsome marine officer.

'Excuse me,' he interjected, 'Elizabeth, may I present Frederic Marlowe ...'

Marlowe bowed over Elizabeth's hand. 'I wished to meet you properly, ma'am. Receiving guests at the door is scarcely decent...'

'I'm honoured, Mr Marlowe. You are to be congratulated upon your bride's loveliness.'