His One Woman (12 page)

And then the unbelievable happened.

Marietta heard her name being called.

She turned in the direction of the sound to see, of all people in the world, Jack Dilhorne.

Jack, who had left the field when it became apparent that the Union Army had lost the battle, had been caught up in the mêlée, but had fortunately managed to cross the bridge just before it was hit. He had stopped for a moment in order to allow both his horse and driver to rest when he had seen two women walking in the cornfield adjacent to the road.

To his horror he recognised Marietta and Sophie. He stood up and waved and shouted to them, calling Marietta's name in desperation. How, in God's name, and by what means, had they come to be here, caught in the general rout—and alone?

The feeling of relief which swept over him when he finally caught Marietta's attention was almost overwhelming in its strength. Sophie he barely recognised, so bedraggled and filthy was her appearance.

Jack's face was white with shock. It was bad
enough to find himself caught up in the retreat, being fired at by the enemy, but to discover that Marietta was lost in it, too, almost overwhelmed him.

‘What in the world are you doing here, Marietta?' he exclaimed when the two women reached the buggy. ‘And Sophie, also,' he added the last almost as an afterthought as he jumped from the buggy to help the two exhausted women into it.

‘Too long a story to tell you now,' panted Marietta, helping him to lift Sophie into the vehicle, using her last reserves of strength to do so. Sophie could not speak at all. The sight of Jack had set her crying, from relief this time, for here at last was the saviour for whom she had been waiting: a man to see her safely home—and save her from Marietta.

All three of them were light-headed from relief and exhaustion after the terrible events of the long day. Marietta clung to Jack's hand when he helped her into the carriage: seeing him was manna in the desert for her. She now had someone who would help her to reach home safely—God willing.

She explained briefly that Hamilton Hope had brought them to see the battle and how they had come to be lost and abandoned in the thick of the rout.

‘You are not hurt, Marietta?' he said when she had finished, again adding as an afterthought, ‘And Sophie, too.'

Sophie who was beginning to recover a little, was enraged that he had taken so little notice of her—he seemed to have eyes only for Marietta. She said in
an angry voice, ‘Oh, do let us get away. This is no time for billing and cooing. We are not safe; the enemy is almost upon us.'

Jack ignored her until he saw Marietta comfortably seated before ordering the boy to drive on. His evident concern for her cousin started Sophie sobbing again. He turned to her, saying, ‘Are you hurt, Sophie? I wouldn't like to stop the carriage, but if its motion troubles you—'

She interrupted him, muttering, ‘Only my face. It's only my face which hurts me. She hit me. Marietta hit me—here,' and put her hand on to her cheek.

‘Oh, goodness,' exclaimed Marietta. ‘I only did so to make you take off your crinoline cage so that you would be able to walk more easily. If I hadn't, we should both have been captured by the rebels by now, and what do you think would have happened to us then?'

Sophie ignored this, putting out her hand to show it to Jack. ‘And she hurt my wrist when she pulled me along—look, she bruised it.'

It was true that her hand and wrist were scarlet, but that was because of the strength which Marietta had needed to use to drag her to safety since she had refused to help herself.

Jack, who had seen Marietta pulling her along when he had first caught sight of them, said to her as gently as he could, ‘I'm sure that Marietta was doing all she could to get you safely home.'

Sophie's sniffles grew louder and she began to
shiver dramatically. ‘And I'm so cold and wet because she dragged me through the stream as well.'

Nothing would silence her. Jack took off his coat and put it around her shoulders in order to quieten her as much as to warm her. He ordered the boy to take off his jacket and give it to Marietta so that she could be protected as well. He was quite aware that only Marietta's courage and determination had brought the two women to a place where they could be rescued, and that she had succeeded in doing so without Sophie's co-operation.

More and more he was coming to admire her as well as love her: it was difficult to tell where one feeling ended and the other began. How could the Hopes have been so foolish as to take her to watch a battle—and then lose her? She was sitting quietly now, still composed, her face white except for the mauve smudges of exhaustion about her eyes and mouth.

After a time Sophie fell into a dazed sleep, worn out by the long day and its horrors. Jack took Marietta's hand into his own, and when she, too, slept, it was on his shoulder, his arm now around hers, until they reached the outskirts of Washington where he gently roused her, leaving Sophie to sleep until they reached the Hamilton Hopes' doorway.

When, carried along by the rout, they arrived back in Washington, the Hopes had been almost beside themselves. Hamilton Hope had tried to turn back when they had reached Centerville, only to be pre
vented by the military. Belatedly they had now recognised that the presence of civilians on the battlefield had been a mistake, and were busily engaged in moving them on without consideration for wealth, position or senatorial rank.

To Hamilton's plea that his daughter and niece were lost, he was told that even more dead and wounded had been left behind on the battlefield and in the general rout, and that to try to find two females in the general disorder would be a hopeless task.

‘Doubtless someone will rescue them, if they are seen,' said the harassed staff officer whom Sophie's distracted father had approached, waving his rank as a State Senator and his brother Jacobus's as a senior member of Lincoln's government. Neither brought him any assistance. Instead, he was told, roughly, to be on his way at once; he was merely holding up the Army's intention to regroup before the rebels marched on Washington—for such was the immediate fear.

They had reached home shortly before nine o'clock at night to find the town buzzing with rumours of the hideous defeat which the arrival of the demoralised remnants of the Union Army and the civilian refugees merely confirmed. The notion that the Unionists had simply to show themselves to defeat the damned rebels lay in ruins. No one now doubted that the enemy was formidable, and that the war would be long and hard.

So complete had the South's victory been, so utter the rout, that if, in those last days of July, the South
ern Armies had advanced on the panic-stricken capital the possibility of victory was theirs. They were never to be so near to it again.

Hamilton and Serena Hope sat, numb with despair in their drawing-room, denied the possibility of return to search for Sophie and Marietta—fearful that they were dead or dying.

‘Or worse,' said Hamilton, who was beginning to think the unthinkable—that he might never see his daughter again.

‘What shall I say to Jacobus if his daughter is lost?' he said. ‘Who could have thought that such a disaster would be possible? They should all be shot, all of them, generals and private soldiers alike. Shameful, their behaviour was shameful. It is only God's mercy that they have not taken the capital itself.'

He had forgotten the euphoric mood of the morning when they had set out so gaily to see the battle.

The journey back to Washington was long and hard, not only for Jack and his companions but for all the struggling crowds who walked and rode towards salvation. Somewhere among them Russell sat on his horse, mentally composing his dismal tale of rout and panic for his
Times
despatch. It was an account which was to enrage the entire North since it told of incompetence, cowardice and failure. The greater the truth the more it hurt. The infant Republic writhed beneath the scorn of Europe. The sheer ferocity with which the North later fought the war
owed a great deal to the derision which it had earned at Bull Run or First Manassas, as the battle was also known.

During the long drive home, Jack wondered how long the North would hold out after such an unforeseen and stunning defeat. He remembered, though, that Alan had told him that the war would be a long one and that the North's victory would not be easily achieved, but that they would certainly win in the end.

His main consideration was to see the cousins safely home. Later, when they reached harbour, as it were, at one in the morning, beneath a splendid moon, and he handed them over to the Hopes, they could not say or do enough to thank him for rescuing them.

‘No,' he said to Hamilton Hope, drinking the brandy and eating the food which the Hopes had forced on him, ‘
I
didn't rescue them. Marietta had done that long before I arrived on the scene. They were clear of the enemy then, thanks to the bridge being blown up behind them. One way or another, Marietta would have made sure they reached home again: her courage was exemplary.'

He said nothing of Sophie for there was nothing to say. He had watched the two women being taken up to bed to be bathed and cosseted, but not before, unseen, while they waited for the Hopes' butler to answer the door, he had kissed Marietta on the cheek in return for her gallantry, and had whispered to her that he hoped that it would be the first of many more yet to come.

‘A
ball! The Van Horns are going to give a ball tonight, only two days after the battle—what can they be
thinking
of?'

Ezra Butler, who had not experienced the realities of war as Jack had, shrugged his shoulders. ‘Van Horn's words to me were, “The damned secessionists shan't stop me from ordering my life as I may, defeat or not.” Since I agree with him I intend to go. Nothing is gained by putting on mourning: a brave face is much better.'

‘I suppose there's something in that,' agreed Jack thoughtfully. ‘I have had an invitation so I'll accompany you.'

He wondered if Marietta had sufficiently recovered from her ordeal to attend.

Ezra smiled. He knew why Jack was so eager to visit the Van Horns. ‘It's Marietta Hope you want to see again, isn't it?' he asked. ‘You should know that she's with the Hamilton Hopes at present—after all, you took her there the other night.'

‘I don't particularly wish to visit the Hamilton Hopes,' said Jack, who had no desire to see Sophie, who had been so hateful to Marietta who had saved her. He was unaware that Marietta had already returned home, unwilling to be in Sophie's company after her conduct during the retreat. She was fearful that she might lose her temper and say something unforgivable.

She had hugged the memory of the drive home from Manassas to her heart. She and Jack had barely spoken. They had both been tired and exhausted, but speech had not been needed. She had fallen asleep because she trusted him and was happy in his presence, whatever the external danger.

The following morning he had sent a messenger round to the Hopes' residence with a note in which he trusted that she was feeling recovered after her ordeal and in which he praised her bravery. It was after that that she had made her decision to leave the Hopes, even if it meant living alone until Aunt Percival or her father returned. Fortunately, Aunt Percival, her midwifery duties over, had arrived back in Washington on the afternoon of the battle, although the Senator was still absent.

Ignorant of all this, Jack found himself at the Van Horns' place where, despite everything, those in Washington who had spent Sunday watching and fleeing from the battle, now spent Tuesday evening enlivening others' dull lives with their tales of it. He looked eagerly around for Marietta, but he could not see her.

Bored, and about to leave, fearing that he might yet have to risk a visit to the Hamilton Hopes, he looked in the conservatory where he could hear voices and a woman's low laughter. It was Sophie. She was surrounded by her cavaliers and was entertaining them with her adventures in the rout.

To hear her talk it was she who had saved Marietta, and looking at her as she sat there, enchanting in forget-me-not blue, it was difficult to reconcile her appearance with that of the bedraggled, complaining doll whom Marietta and he had hauled into the buggy. He could have borne her lying and deceitful account except that someone asked after Marietta, and Sophie said, with a laugh, ‘Oh, she is here, but what a pother and to-do she made in the rout.'

She pulled a comically deprecating face, and altogether made it sound as though Marietta had been the one who had needed to be shouted at and coaxed and cajoled to behave properly.

Disgusted, Jack walked into the conservatory. She saw him come in and her face closed. She had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

‘Jack,' she said, raising her little bouquet to her lips, ‘the very man. I was just telling my friends of our adventures after the battle and of your gallantry.'

It was unwise, if not to say ungentlemanly, but Jack could not prevent himself. ‘And were you telling your friends, Sophie, of how you shrieked and screamed and needed to be half-carried home by Marietta—and of your lack of gratitude for her saving you?'

Her pretty face suddenly grew ugly. ‘One has to suppose,' she said, unable to resist a savage thrust at him, ‘that an ugly bean-pole has to be of some use for something—Marietta would have made a useful drill sergeant, don't you think?' and her eyes glared at him.

Jack had immediately regretted his own outburst, but to hear her malign and belittle the woman who had saved her had been too much for him to endure without reproaching Sophie for her blatant untruths.

Sophie, too, was beginning to regret the spite which had filled her voice and had caused some of her hearers to have second thoughts about her which were not quite so flattering as their first. She added, with a toss of her pretty head, ‘I suppose that you wish to report to her. She and Aunt Percival are doing their
devoirs
with all the old Senators from Capitol Hill. Such a bore.' Her light laughter followed him out of the conservatory.

He discovered Aunt Percival and Marietta in the main salon. Marietta's face bore the stigmata of tiredness far more than Sophie's did, but then, she had been the one who had displayed the spirit and the energy to get them to the place where he had found them. It lit up when she saw him, and his own pleasure was such that he thought that he might as well be carrying a banner saying ‘I love Marietta Hope,' so plainly was his affection for her written on his face.

‘Jack!' she greeted him. ‘I'm so pleased to find you here.' She turned to Avory Grant, who was
standing beside her, having made his way back to Washington after his regiment had broken and fled the field. ‘I was just telling Avory how gallantly you rescued Sophie and me.'

‘No gallantry,' said Jack. ‘You were rescuing yourself when I found you. I was merely the master of the chariot on which you travelled the last part of the journey home.'

Avory nodded his approval. ‘I'm sure,' he said, ‘that one might trust Marietta to do the right thing; she makes a habit of it. She should have been leading the Army.'

Jack was not sure that he felt happy at hearing another man, who was a possible rival, praising her. The admiring attention of both men had brought a lovely flush to her face which hid her tiredness and improved her looks.

How could anyone call her plain? thought Jack. She makes Sophie look like a characterless and importunate kitten. Avory was thinking the same thing. He was also, somewhat ruefully, registering that Marietta only had eyes for Jack, and that his own hopes of winning her were vain.

Marietta was aching for Jack. She wished them all away: Avory, Aunt Percival and the crowd around them. She wanted to be in a place where they only knew each other. In some way the journey from Manassas had sealed whatever had already lain between them and had made it deeper and stronger. They had both learned how transient and fleeting life was, and
that the opportunities for fulfilment in it must be grasped, not lost.

As though he were aware of what lay between the lovers, Avory said, relinquishing his last claim on Marietta, ‘You will wish to be alone to talk over what passed after the battle. I am sure that Aunt Percival and I will be only too happy to excuse you.'

Etiquette or no etiquette, Jack and Marietta needed no second invitation. With a grateful ‘Thank you,' Jack led Marietta away. Aunt Percival—she had known Avory since he and Marietta had been children together, and was also Avory's distant relative—turned to him and said, as kindly as she could, ‘It has been like that with them since they first met.'

Avory nodded. ‘I was too late. I can only say how pleased I am that she has found happiness at last—I can only wish that she had accepted me all those years ago.'

‘You were both too young then,' said Aunt Percival, still kind. ‘You had to grow up, and unfortunately, when you did, Jack had found her first. He is a good man from what appears to be a remarkable family.'

‘Her father told me the other day,' Avory said, ‘that his brother is a member of the British government and has a title. Better than that, they are, I understand, both clever men. On the other hand, if he does not treat her properly, be sure I shall always be there for her.'

‘Oh, I don't think that you need have any fears for
her future happiness,' were Aunt Percival's last words to him: brave words which she was to remember later.

‘Supper,' said Jack, when they had left the others. ‘Let me take you into supper.' He told himself that he was the true son of his father, to whom food had always been important.

‘Supper,' agreed Marietta, laughing up at him. ‘I do believe that the only time that we did not talk about food was on the way home from Manassas.'

‘Too busy eating humble pie,' said Jack obligingly. ‘We had gone there for a victory and it turned into a rout.'

The smile left Marietta's face. She looked around the supper room at the gaily dressed crowd eating and drinking. ‘Yes,' she said quietly. ‘I feel guilty about being here and enjoying myself—junketing, as the British say. On the other hand I also feel that it is important that we show the flag and are not down-hearted. There will be other battles and we shall not lose them all, I hope.'

They were neither of them hungry so they soon moved out of the supper-room and on to the terrace where they were, for a time, alone. The moon was already high, and Jack found that her nearness, as well as the scent of lily-of-the-valley perfume and Marietta mingled, was heady enough for him to take her into his arms. He began to kiss her.

He had meant to be gentle at first, but her response to him was so immediate that all caution, all holding back because he knew that in the lists of love she
was untried, flew away at the first touch of her tender lips. She was warm and comfortable in his arms as though that was where she was always meant to be.

He kissed the cleft between her beautiful breasts before slipping her dress down the more to reveal them. She made no demur at all, clinging to him the harder, finding from she knew not where exactly what a woman should do when being embraced by her lover. His desire for her and hers for him was so powerful that they could have fulfilled their passion there, on the terrace, all decorum, all rules of conduct, ignored.

What saved them from committing themselves completely was the sound of other guests coming through the glass doors. They sprang apart and began to re-order their clothing, pretending that they were admiring the garden and the beauty of the warm summer night.

‘You will visit me tomorrow?' she asked him while they strolled back into the ballroom. ‘I am home again: you will not have to run the gauntlet of Sophie and the Hopes.'

He took her hand in his to kiss her farewell. ‘Be very sure that I shall. My time in Washington is nearly at an end and I intend to make the most of it.'

If there was a double meaning in his words, then so be it. Having tasted for a moment of the sweets of mutual passion, neither of them could wait to enjoy them again. Both of them were unaware of the eyes trained on them: Sophie's were jealous and
vengeful ones, Avory's sad and regretful, while Aunt Percival and her friends agreed that it was time that such a sterling treasure as Marietta Hope should find happiness at last.

Marietta was alone when Jack arrived the next day—or rather Aunt Percival tactfully removed herself when he was announced. ‘You don't want an old woman making a fifth wheel,' being her trenchant comment to Marietta. ‘I'll go and arrange for tea to be served.'

It was pleasant to be with Marietta again without either Sophie or her aunt to be considered, Jack thought. He had sternly told himself to behave properly when he was in her own home, but the sight of her did dreadful things to his composure. By her expression Marietta was suffering from the same affliction.

Nevertheless, as the servants came and went with the tea, they behaved themselves. ‘We're just like an old married couple,' was Jack's remark when they had gone, which set Marietta choking over her tea cup.

‘I don't feel like an old married couple,' she said when she could speak again.

‘Nor I,' said Jack. He looked naughtily at her over the rim of his cup. ‘Dare I suggest that we meet somewhere where we are not likely to be interrupted at any moment? I learned this morning that I shall be leaving for New York tomorrow—with the Presidential Committee's blessing. I am to work with Er
icsson on his newly designed iron-clad, the
Monitor
, in both an official and an unofficial capacity. I have the feeling that the Patriarch would approve of my double duties. More to the point, I feel that we have much to say to one another privately before I leave.'

Marietta put down her tea cup and said in a prim voice, ‘I suppose that you might have some suggestions as to where this important conference should take place?'

‘Only one,' said Jack. ‘I fear that I must ask you to visit my rooms—tomorrow.'

‘Fear,' said Marietta, raising her eyebrows. ‘Are you sure that fear is the right word here?' She was discovering in herself a previously unknown ability to flirt with a gentleman in a manner which could only be described as suggestive. Now, wherever had she learned to behave like that?

‘Hope,' returned Jack. ‘I hope that you will agree to visit me there. Is that better? After all, hope is your name.'

‘Much better,' said Marietta. ‘We are agreed, then?'

‘As ever,' said Jack. He wished that the Patriarch had lived long enough to meet her—his one woman; there was no doubt of that.

‘We must behave ourselves,' she added.

‘Of course,' Jack said, giving her a wistful smile. ‘I would not wish to do anything that you would not wish me to do.'

There was a double meaning in this, too, but Marietta ignored it. Where Jack was concerned, all the
rules which had governed her quiet and orderly life seemed to have disappeared. She could hardly wait for tomorrow afternoon to come so that she could do that dreadfully wrong thing, be alone with a gentleman in his lodgings, but she did not tell him so.

The thought of their private meeting on the morrow enabled them to behave as decorously as even the most severe book of etiquette could wish. Aunt Percival came in shortly before Jack left, and he told her of his coming visit to New York.