“The supply lines in the war were dreadful,” said Lambdon, with all the authority of a man who’d read newspapers.
“We were hoping for boots, we got a few crates of guns. A new sort. Lafayette manufacture. They were welcome enough, of course. We had a few days in hand and any amount of ammunition supplied, so we thought we’d best get used to them. We shared them amongst ourselves and spread out to give them a try.”
He stopped there, taking a gulp of port to disguise the sudden tightening of his throat, because even all these months on, the words brought back the smell. The scent of Africa’s hot dry earth, and the cordite, and the blood.
“And the guns were faulty.” Sir Hubert clearly wanted this story over with.
“Not the word, sir. They burst in our hands. Exploding all over the field.” Curtis lifted his gloved right hand, just slightly. “I lost three fingers when the stock of my revolver blew. The man next to me—” Lieutenant Fisher, that warm, laughing redheaded Scot who had been his tentmate for two years, falling to his knees, mouth open in bewilderment as blood poured from the shattered mess of his wrist. Dying, there on the field, as Curtis tried to reach him, holding out the bloody ruin of his own hand for a touch that would never happen.
He couldn’t speak of that. “It was a damned business. My company lost as many men in two minutes’ practice firing than in six months of war before it.” Seven deaths on the field; six more in the field hospital; two suicides, later. Three men blinded. Mutilations and amputations. “The entire crate of guns was deadly.”
“Inappropriately deadly,” da Silva murmured.
Lambdon asked, “Was anything ever proved against the Lafayette company, Hubert?”
“The inquiry was inconclusive.” Sir Hubert’s face had been serious throughout Curtis’s recital, hearing the story with distaste, but nothing more. “The manufacturing process was at fault, of course, the walls of the chambers were catastrophically weak, but nobody found it to be anything but an accident. I never believed it was anything else. Lafayette was mad for economy, all of us in the trade knew that. Always finding ways to squeeze an extra penny from a pound. There needs be no more to it than that he cut one corner too many.”
James Armstrong put on a knowing look. “But you didn’t like his politics, did you, pater? I thought you said he didn’t support the war.”
Sir Hubert gave his son a frown. “Nothing was ever found against him, and the man’s dead.”
“Dead? What happened to him?” Grayling asked.
“He was found floating in the Thames, a couple of weeks ago,” said Sir Hubert heavily. “He must have slipped and fallen in.”
James made a sceptical noise. “We all know what that means. Guilt, if you ask me.”
Sir Hubert frowned. “Enough of this. John, were you at Goodwood for the last race?”
Lambdon’s answer turned the talk to sport, and most of the company were soon exchanging remarks on their preferred activities. Curtis and Holt had a fair few boxing acquaintances in common, and the familiar talk relaxed him, driving the more recent memories away. The others discussed shooting and cricket. Da Silva did not join in the conversation, but sat with a faint, abstracted smile that radiated polite boredom, and sipped the excellent port with the air of a man who would have preferred absinthe.
What a bloody pansy, Curtis thought.
It was a perfectly standard social evening, but in no way a fruitful one, and as he worked the studs out of his collar that night, Curtis had to admit to his reflection that he had no great idea how to change that.
Chapter Two
The next morning was a bright blue October day, the sun spilling yellow over the surrounding hills and peaks, and Lady Armstrong had plans for her guests.
“A march over the hills, to be followed by a picnic lunch, my dears.” She clapped her hands. “Blow away those cobwebs. We have plenty of walking things in all sizes.” She dragooned the company irresistibly, until she came up against two immovable objects.
Curtis was the first. “It sounds marvellous, but I can’t chance it. I took a bullet in the knee at Jacobsdal.” A stray round from a panicking colleague, tearing through his leg even as he stared at his ruined hand. “It’s much better these days but rough terrain is tricky, and train journeys play hob with it. I should rest it today if I’m to be up for the rest of the week.”
“Oh, but we can order the carriage—or a horse?”
“There’s no need to take the trouble. I’ve plenty of reading to catch up on.” Curtis spoke as firmly as he could, hoping she wouldn’t argue.
“I shall keep Mr. Curtis company,” came a silky voice over his shoulder.