Mary Nichols - The Hemingford Scandal

Given his way, he would not have come, but Anne had insisted. ‘Jane is my friend,’ she had said. ‘If you were not here, I should go and have some discourse with her and I do not propose to change my habits because you are. It would be as good as cutting her and that would give the scandalmongers fresh ammunition and I will not give them the satisfaction. Besides, you have done no wrong and I will not have you ostracised. Better to let people think we are all friends together.’

He had smilingly given in, knowing she was right; politeness decreed they should acknowledge each other or have everyone talking about that two-year-old scandal all over again. Besides, although he could not and should not attempt to wrest Jane away from Allworthy, which would damn him all over again in the eyes of the world, he could not resist the temptation to speak to her again, if only for a few minutes. He might discover if Anne had been right when she said Jane had been coerced.

‘I thought you resigned your commission,’ Jane put in tentatively. She had noticed how tired he looked, and that, when he came in and took his seat, he limped. In spite of his smile, there was pain in his eyes and she wondered why she had not noticed it that morning. Her anger gave way to compassion.

‘So I did, but that did not mean I had finished with the army or they with me. I enlisted.’

‘Enlisted!’ Aunt Lane was shocked. ‘You mean you became a common soldier?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I was not prepared to wallow in my disgrace or hang about waiting for someone to take pity on me. And as I did not have the blunt to buy a commission in another regiment, I decided to serve my country in the only other way open to me.’

‘How brave of you,’ murmured Jane. This was not the blustering rakeshame she had sent away, this was a man who had taken his courage in his hands and tried to redeem himself.

He laughed, not sure she wasn’t roasting him. ‘Not brave at all, but once I had done it, there was no undoing it and in the end I did not regret it.’

‘He was soon promoted,’ Anne put in, realising that Aunt Lane did not see the common soldier as a being to be admired, rather the reverse. ‘He is Captain Harry Hemingford now.’

‘Congratulations,’ Jane said. ‘I am very pleased for you.’

‘But a private soldier!’ Aunt Lane protested. ‘How could you bring yourself to associate with the riffraff in the ranks?’

‘Ma’am, they are not riffraff, they are the men standing between you and Bonaparte, keeping this country safe from his tyranny, and a finer bunch of comrades I never met. I am proud to have served with them.’

‘I do not think Aunt Lane meant to denigrate them,’ Jane said quietly. ‘She was only thinking of your sensibilities.’

He turned towards her, looking directly into her eyes. ‘I could not afford to have sensibilities, Jane.’

‘Oh.’ She squirmed inwardly with embarrassment, but she had, in the last two years, become adept at hiding it. ‘I admire you for it.’ She spoke quietly, but he was immensely comforted.

The orchestra had begun to play for the second act, calling everyone back to their seats. Donald, who had remained silent all through the encounter, rose as Anne got up to take her leave. Reluctantly Harry stood, bowed over Mrs Lane’s hand, then Jane’s and, murmuring, ‘Good evening, Allworthy,’ disappeared after his sister.

‘What a strange fellow,’ Donald said, resuming his seat beside Jane.

‘I do not find him strange.’

‘No gentleman ought to enlist as a private soldier. It is degrading. Their vulgar behaviour and speech are bound to rub off.’

‘I saw no evidence of that.’

‘No doubt he was being particular tonight.’

The curtain was rising, revealing the next scene in the play, and Jane turned towards the stage, glad to bring an end to the conversation. But she could not concentrate. Seeing Harry twice in the same day had unsettled her. And he was so changed, she could hardly believe he was the man she had sent away. She had been the one to send him away, not only from herself, but from his country, his family and his friends. He could have lived down the scandal over Mrs Clarke, everyone else concerned had soon done so; it was not necessary to exile himself for that. He had gone because she could not forgive him and railed at him that he had betrayed her trust, going behind her back and visiting that demi-rep. How top-lofty she had been!

And now he was back and she was likely to see more of him. She could not avoid him unless she cut Anne out of her life and she could not do that. She and Anne were as close as sisters and shared all their secrets; without Anne she would have only an increasingly preoccupied father and an eccentric great-aunt for company. And Mr Allworthy, of course, but she could not imagine herself giggling over the latest on dit with him.

The performance ended amid wild applause and they found themselves leaving the theatre alongside Anne and Harry. Jane realised, as they shuffled out in the crowd, that Harry looked pale and drawn and his limp was more pronounced. ‘You have been wounded,’ she whispered.

‘Not worth mentioning, nothing but a scratch.’ He grinned to prove it. ‘A sympathy wound, you might call it. You’d be surprised how many expressions of compassion, how many offers of nursing, how many bowls of beef tea and posies of sweet-smelling herbs it has attracted. I put it all on, you know.’

She did not believe that. Not even the old Harry would have stooped so low and the pain she had seen in his eyes was real. ‘But you will make a full recovery?’

‘Oh, do not doubt it.’

They were outside in the street where rows of carriages and cabs waited. The two parties bade each other good night and parted: Jane, Donald and Aunt Lane made their way to the Allworthy carriage while Anne and Harry called up a hackney.

‘Well, that was a surprise, I must say,’ Aunt Lane said, as they were driven towards Duke Street. ‘I doubt the Earl will take him back now.’

‘Why not?’ Jane demanded. ‘I would expect him to be proud of his grandson. Anne said he was recommended for bravery in the field.’

‘I think your aunt meant enlisting as a common soldier,’ Donald put in. ‘It is not the sort of thing a member of the ton ought to do. His family must see it as a shabby thing to do, almost as if he had denounced his heritage. But then he had already been disgraced, so perhaps it is not to be wondered at.’

‘I hope he does not expect to introduce any of his rough friends to us,’ Aunt Lane added. ‘For if he does, I shall give them the cut direct and I hope you would do so too, Jane.’

‘I cannot conceive of an occasion when I am likely to meet his friends,’ Jane said sharply. ‘We do not move in the same circles.’

‘Quite,’ Donald said. ‘But you are his sister’s friend.’

‘Yes, Jane,’ Aunt Lane said. ‘I think, while he is staying with Anne, you would be wise not to call.’

Jane was about to retort angrily that unless her father specifically forbade it, she would see whom she liked, but thought better of it. She had already decided not to put herself in a position where she was likely to meet Harry, not because she frowned on what he had done since they last met, but because she did not want to be reminded of her heartache of two years before. It was over and done with and she wanted it to stay that way.

‘I go home to Coprise tomorrow,’ Donald said, changing the subject in his usual fashion.

‘So soon?’ Jane queried.

‘Yes, I must. But I go in the expectation of a visit from you very soon.’

‘In the circumstances, I think the sooner the better,’ Aunt Lane said.

Jane knew very well what she meant; it did not take a genius to realise Aunt Lane intended to keep her apart from Harry. As if anything on earth would make her go back to him! She smiled. ‘If Papa agrees, we could go a week from now.’