The two young women walked close together, aware that they were the object of many inquisitive glances. Alice was dressed in the style worn by all young girls of her class, while Rose prompted utter amazement in her eccentric outfit of short skirt, boots and no hat and this in a day when no decent women ventured outside her home without a hat!
‘Hold my arm,’ Rose whispered to Alice since she had noticed, even if Alice hadn’t, the way the men were eyeing the beautiful girl by her side. She was unaware that her own handsome looks were, in a different way, as attractive as Alice’s. She had a mass of curly Titian hair – she called it ginger! – which was vibrant with copper, a tawny red, streaks of golden brown, quite glorious and quite untameable so she kept it cut short and it rioted over her skull unchecked. As she and Alice struggled through the crowds the curls bounced and fell over her forehead, curly tendrils touching her long brown eyelashes which were tipped with gold. Her eyes were a golden brown, uncompromising, watchful, intelligent, and her mouth was a rich, ripe red with a tiny dimple in one corner which lifted at the side when she smiled. She was as tall as most men, slender but shapely with a fine breast. Her manner at this moment was guarded, protective of the dainty little creature who clung to her arm.
The station forecourt was a heaving mass of men who would be trained to be soldiers and who were all cheerfully being herded on to the waiting train. The Earl of Derby had appealed to the men of Lancashire to volunteer and it must be said they did not need much persuasion. They formed the 19th Battalion, the King’s Liverpool Regiment and among them was a cavalry unit in which Charlie Summers was a captain. He and other officers were busy with loading their horses into wagons at the rear of the train, for there would be a great need of horses in the battles to come, or so they believed. Mounted troops would be the main components of offensive warfare. In battle they would carry a sword, a rifle for use when dismounted and a lance. Cavalry units were also equipped with one or two machine guns carried by a team and cart.
At first it was almost impossible to recognise one soldier from another. Most of them were working-class men and the sound of their orders from fierce regimental sergeants thundered over the shrieks of train whistles. Porters shouted, horses whinnied their distress, the men whistled and sang, thrilled by this new adventure they were off to, that of defending their country. The regiments were made up of men who knew each other, who, when they were settled, would be known as the ‘Liverpool Pals’ and who would in a short time learn to present arms, fight with a bayonet and throw bombs. They did not know in that first month of the war that soldiers were already dying in their thousands.
And in the midst of all this seething mass of apparent turmoil the British Army was doing its best to load all the necessary provisions for battle on several trains that would be off within the hour.
On a narrow ramp that led up into the horse wagons, six sweating soldiers, one of them an officer, were doing their superhuman best to get a grey mare aboard, exercising great patience while the grey’s owner stood at her head gently pulling her bridle.
Alice gave an excited squeak. ‘It’s Charlie, look, Rose, it’s Charlie, and that’s Lady.’
But Rose was not looking at Charlie, or even Lady, but at the tall aristocratic gentleman who was watching the drama from the platform to the side of the wagon.
H
arry watched as the young woman approached along the station platform, the most astonishing young woman he had ever seen. She was tall, at least half a foot taller than Alice. Not pretty like Alice who was holding her arm; her face was too strong for that, but with eyes a startling gleaming golden shade, a flawless skin with a hint of honey and hair that was so vivid it seemed to light up the platform. There was a look of humour about her, in the way her full mouth curved upwards at the corners as though she would smile readily. Her figure was fine, graceful with a straight back and high, full breasts but the outfit she had on was highly improper. Or so the women gathered on the platform evidently thought. Nevertheless she was very striking and he could not drag his gaze from her and get back to the job in hand. He had been involved with helping his brother, Charlie, load his mare on to the train, pushing her smooth grey rump with his shoulder in an effort to coax her up the ramp, but at the sound of Alice’s excited voice they all stopped and stared, even the troopers, and the grey took the opportunity to back down. Her eyes were rolling, her ears flattened and her big teeth were ready to take a nip out of anybody who put a hand on her, but though Charlie turned towards Alice he kept a firm hold on the reins.
Harry hurriedly smoothed his jacket down and straightened his tie. Alice was darting through the crowds to get to Charlie and the young woman with her was left standing on the platform, pushed this way and that by the seething mass of people, soldiers and those who had come to see them off, but her eyes were fixed on him as his were on hers. Something was communicated from deep chocolate-brown eyes to those of gold and the chaos about them seemed to recede in the strangeness of that first moment of meeting.
The message conveyed from one to the other had a warmth, a recognition and Rose was conscious of a dizziness – no, not a dizziness, but a feeling of disorientation which surely was not usual in the circumstances. She had got up this morning with nothing on her mind other than a determination to take the gig to Old Swan and here she was in the midst of the confusion and muddle, which she could see all around her, of men off to battle. She could hear Alice’s voice chattering her dismay as she helped Charlie – she supposed it was Charlie – quiet the terrified mare – ‘Let me hold the reins . . . you take . . . oh dear, what are you to do? She is so frightened . . . what will you do if . . .’ while across the dreaful mix-up Rose Beechworth and Harry Summers looked at one another without a word. Now that he had righted himself after his efforts in helping his brother, he was seen to be immaculately dressed and bore a striking resemblance to Charlie. She had often watched them riding hell for leather across the land at the back of Beechworth House, shouting encouragement as they chased the fox, laughing, young gentlemen at play, but now that they were both concerned about the mare and her refusal to be shepherded aboard the train the likeness between the brothers was even more apparent. They were both tall, with long, loose, powerful limbs but whereas the younger, even now in the midst of this turmoil, seemed to have a merry look about him, the elder had an almost austere beauty that was completely masculine and very striking. There were deep furrows between his eyebrows as though a frown was more his usual expression than a smile. For all that he was not yet thirty it was as though he bore a great weight on his broad shoulders and for some reason it touched Rose.
With a supreme effort he tore his gaze from the fascinating young woman and turned back to his brother. ‘It’s no good, Charlie. She’ll hurt herself. I’ll ride like the devil and fetch your horse. You know how she loves her or do you think she’d follow another gig pony?’
‘I don’t know, Harry. She’ll go anywhere with her, you know that, but as for another . . . But you’ll have to be quick, old chap. The train is to set off in an hour and if she’s not aboard I’ll have to leave her. Though how can a cavalry man manage without his horse?’
Charlie had brightened at the sight of Alice, but now he was the picture of dejection. He led the frightened animal into a quiet, or at least less crowded, corner of the station yard while the soldiers who had done their best to get her aboard thankfully left to get on with their duties. Charlie spoke quietly into the grey’s swivelling ears and slowly she calmed down.
Charlie Summers was a career soldier and he looked every inch a cavalry man in his well-fitting uniform: a khaki jacket, the buttons on the pockets polished to a golden gleam, beige breeches like those he wore for riding, a leather belt and shoulder strap and a peaked cap with the regiment’s badge at the front. His knee-high boots glowed a lustrous chestnut brown with the spit and polish his batman had put into them. He wore his cap at a rakish angle and his dark brown hair curled over his collar. He was twenty-four but looked far younger. He had a ferocious appetite for life and always had, climbing to almost terrifying heights in trees, sliding head first down banisters, leaping fast-running streams. He possessed that indefinable characteristic, a mystical charm that everyone he met, at school, on his father’s estate and now in the army responded to. He was popular with his men, displaying a warmth that was irresistible to all those about him, men of his own rank and those he would lead into battle. He was, sadly, not his usual cheerful self now. Alice had spoken to him softly and he touched her cheek then buried his face in her neck to the consternation of those nearby.
‘Alice, my love . . . you came.’ He lifted his head and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. ‘How? I thought your father—’
‘I escaped, Charlie. I couldn’t let you go without—’
‘But how did you get here?’
It was as though the two of them were in an enclosed bubble in which no one else existed. They could be seen and heard but neither seemed to be aware of what went on around them. The grey mare stood quietly as though she too were part of this mysterious and unreal moment.
Rose, who was watching them, stepped back. Her heel came down sharply on the foot of Harry Summers’s boot and he grunted but nevertheless put out a gallant hand to steady her. For a moment it touched her elbow and she distinctly felt the electricity pass from him to her. Startled, she turned back to him and looked up into his warm brown eyes, gazing into them, mesmerised. They did not smile but were deep in the magic she knew to be important. Fine lines were drawn about his eyes, tracing from the corners. Her heart missed a beat and for an astonishing moment she felt it rise in her throat. His face was strong and his lips were firm but as she watched they lifted into a small smile meant only for her and it told her he was as transfixed as she was.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she managed to say, ‘that was extremely clumsy of me.’
‘No harm done,’ he answered automatically.
‘I was—’ She was about to say something else but he interrupted her.
‘Really, please don’t concern yourself.’
‘The grey . . .?’
He had recovered his self-control now, and so had she, the astonishing moment over.
‘Yes, I’m afraid Charlie – he’s my brother by the way—’
‘Yes, I know. And you are Harry Summers.’
‘And you must be the mysterious Miss Rose Beechworth?’
‘Mysterious!’
‘Indeed, it is said you refuse all invitations and do not entertain. Mind you’ – he grinned boyishly – ‘I can’t say I blame you. Some of the social gatherings I am forced to attend are a crashing bore.’
‘Then why do you go?’
‘Surely it is one’s duty—’ He was interrupted by Charlie who, leaving Lady in the care of one of his troopers and still with Alice clinging to him, tapped him on the shoulder.
‘What am I to do, Harry? Do you think you could fetch Molly in time?’
Rose broke in. ‘Alice and I came in my gig. Perhaps Sparky, my gig pony, might . . . perhaps your mare will follow him on to the train.’
Harry looked puzzled for a moment as though being spoken to by a precocious child boasting of a new toy then his face cleared. Understanding, he took her arm.
‘Where did you leave him? Close by?’
Charlie, with Alice still almost hanging round his neck, drew closer.
‘The stable yard of the Adelphi. I had to leave him there because of the crowds. He was panic-stricken.’
‘Come along and show me.’ Harry held her arm, pulling her along, forcing his way through the press of excited volunteer soldiers, tearful families come to bid farewell to their departing sweethearts, husbands. There were wagons, horses not yet aboard and even would-be passengers waiting for another train which would leave as soon as the troop train was away.
It was quieter when they reached Lime Street, moving in the direction of the Adelphi Hotel and at last Rose managed to untangle her arm from Harry Summers’s strong hand, hurrying along beside him, easily matching her stride to his.
‘Are you certain it was the Adelphi?’ he barked at her, scarcely turning his head, for he was doing his best to free himself from the state of mind into which this young woman seemed to have thrust him. This was not like him. He had so far in his life evaded the blandishments of many young women and their grasping mamas but this one, despite being almost a neighbour, he had never met. He had heard about her, since her unsociability was well known. There were many young men who would be glad of a wealthy wife but though she was invited to move among her own class she declined all invitations to do so, he had heard. She did not care for parties, it was said, and was that strange being, one who was more at ease with the farmers, cottagers, the working classes and their families in whom she took a great interest.
‘Am I likely to mistake it for another?’ she snapped back, for like him she could not support the feelings that had invaded her when she came face to face with Harry Summers.
‘No, I beg your pardon but—’
‘Then allow me to find Sparky and fetch him to your brother. I just hope the mare likes him and that Sparky is willing to lead her on to the train. I myself believe it is cruel to expect an innocent animal to go to war. Men can decide for themselves but horses . . .’
‘My brother is in a cavalry unit, Miss Beechworth, and a cavalry officer without a horse is somewhat useless. The British Expeditionary Force are already fighting – and dying – in France. You will not have read about the Battle of Mons in which thousands of our men were mown down and the force was virtually destroyed and so we must rely on a volunteer army. They need infantry
and
cavalry units such as the one my brother serves in and the men you saw at the station will be part of it. But we really do not have time to discuss the question of war at the moment, Miss Beechworth, so perhaps when we have Lady safely aboard you and Alice will take tea with me at the Adelphi where I will do my best—’