Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave - Stephanie Barron [113]
“He might, but that coincidence plays too strong a part in that gentleman's fortunes,” the Colonel said harshly. “Did not the Crown already hold captive the parties responsible, I might believe him capable even of murder.”
I exchanged a glance with Eliza; these were heavy words, indeed.
“My dear Colonel,” Eliza murmured, leaning towards him intimately, “your hints are very dark and very vague. Pray tell us plainly what reason you may know against this marriage, and have done.”
Colonel Buchanan rose and paced slowly towards the fire, his brow furrowed in thought. The flames caught the gleam of his blue uniform's gold buttons and braid, and threw in sharp relief a scar that bisected his chin. A sabre cut, undoubtedly, and one that had come too close to his neck for comfort.
“It is a highly delicate matter, you understand,” he said, turning to face first Eliza and then myself. “No word of it may reach beyond this room, at least until such time as the matter of his cashierment1 is resolved.”
“Cashierment! This is serious, indeed!”
“I would not ruin the character of a man under my command for less,” the Colonel said, with a bitter smile. “Tom Hearst is lately accused of such infamous conduct, as cannot rightly be credited to a soldier of His Majesty's Horse Guards.”
“And did this involve a young lady?” I enquired, with a terrible presentiment.
“A young lady? Not that I know of,” the Colonel replied, with brows drawn down. “No, Miss Austen—it involved cards.”
“He is a gamester!” Eliza cried, clapping her hands. “Was ever there a rogue who was not?”
“The Lieutenant is indeed fond of cards, and generally plays for high stakes.”
“The only sort of stakes there are,” Eliza murmured, remembering, no doubt, something of her late husband at Versailles, where the Comte de Feuillide had won and lost a succession of fortunes to Marie Antoinette's favourites.
Colonel Buchanan commenced to pace about the room, his hands thrust under the tails of his uniform jacket, his black boots gleaming with every step. The direction of our conversation certainly troubled him deeply; and I wondered whether he regretted his frankness. From his next words, however, it appeared otherwise.
“Lieutenant Hearst, my dear Countess and Miss Austen, has always played with the very worst sort of luck. He has been losing steadily throughout the year.” The Colonel ceased his pacing abruptly and wheeled about. “Until last month.”
“His luck changed?” I said.
“Dramatically,” the Colonel rejoined, in a voice heavy with irony. “Some few weeks before his Christmas leave—which was taken at the request of his commanding officer, rather than any desire of his own to seek the bosom of his family—he was all success of a sudden, and won such sums as must astonish.”
“Very rash,” said Eliza.
“The Countess, as always, has put the matter clearly,” Colonel Buchanan rejoined, with a grim smile. “Success at cards, shall we say, went to his head; and the Lieutenant became greedy. He soon made the mistake, however, of challenging a stranger to his corps—one who could thus feel no obligation of affection, of comradeship, of experiences shared. An officer nonetheless, imbued with a sense of honour—and one who had seen this sort of luck before. More sherry, Miss Austen?”
I shook my head, too engrossed in the tale even to sip the wine I already possessed.
“This officer so succeeded in tripping up our friend the Lieutenant, that Tom Hearst was accused of having several cards beyond the usual set secreted in his coat-sleeve.”
I could not suppress a small gasp, and won a penetrating look from the Colonel before he continued.
“Lieutenant Hearst vigourously protested the assertion that he had cheated—an offence no gentleman may ever hope to survive—and charged his opponent with trickery. Why such a man—an officer and a stranger—should attempt to secure the Lieutenant's ruin without serious cause, you may well ask yourself.” The Colonel regained his chair