The Spanish Bride

4

By the New Year, all the sierras were white with snow, and the weather had become extremely inclement. The soldiers had formed a Trigger Club at Espeja, but the Riflemen had had to give up playing their favourite game of Nine Holes: it was really too cold, and the ground too rough to make it worth while. There was still much sickness, but many had managed to escape from the hospitals and rejoin their regiments. Most of the convalescents suffered from intermittent agues, which made their teeth chatter Eke castanets. Joe Simmons, proudly wearing a pair of Rifle wings, was still far from well, but George, who had begun his career by studying medicine, was taking great care of him, and hoped to have him in good fighting trim when the spring came. Meanwhile, he was keeping his nose to the grindstone. Joe was made to study for five hours a day. He grumbled a little, but as his second brother, Maud, was out of reach, there was no one to encourage him to revolt, and he submitted with a good grace. George was able to tell his parents that he had grown quite two inches, and was learning to apply.

Some Spaniards had been recruited for the Light division, and those responsible for the task reported that they were being tolerably well licked into shape. They were rather like the Portuguese in one respect: if they were commanded by their own officers they would be just as likely to retreat in disorder as to advance; but if you put good English officers amongst them they did very well. In time, they might become as reliable as the Portuguese Caçadores Marshal Beresford had made into such splendid troops. There were other innovations, notably the exchange of the great iron kettles for lighter and smaller tin ones. Apparently, his lordship having had tine to recover from the rage which had governed him when he had written his Memorandum to officers commanding Divisions and Brigades, had realized how much the unwieldy nature of his soldiers’ kettles was to blame for their dilatoriness in cooking their meals. The new kettles were hailed with acclaim, and so too were the shakos for officers’ wear, in place of the cocked-hats which had made them targets for every French sharpshooter.

It was thought that no advance into Spain could be expected until May, since the horses would need at least a month’s green feed before they would be fit for another campaign. Remounts were being sent out from England, of course, and fresh troops to replace the depleted second battalions, which had gone home to the depots.

Meanwhile, life went on much as usual in the army. A number of men acquired Spanish or Portuguese mistresses, so that the hoard of camp-followers was becoming oddly polygot. They quarrelled even more violently than the Irish women, and could not be trusted to refrain from using knives as weapons when they were angry, but the stews which they cooked in their earthenware penellas made it worth while putting up with their murderous tendencies. All Spanish women were expert in the management of the penella, which stood day in, day out, at the side of the fire, and was turned from time to time. Juana, taking lessons from the Padre, learned to make a stew the very smell of which set one’s mouth watering. But when Billy Mein, riding over to dine with the Smiths, asked her what she put in the pot to give it such a flavour, she never seemed to know, but answered vaguely: ‘Oh, un poco de aceyte y una cabeza de ajos!’ But since her stews all tasted different, no one believed this, and ‘a little oil and a clove of garlic’ became a standing-joke, the stock-answer to any culinary question.

Billy Mein was often to be found in the Smiths’ quarters. He used to ride into Fuentes de Onoro to drink grog made of bad rum with Harry. Major Rowan was a frequent visitor, too, bringing news of the regiment’s Colonel, who had been invalided to England after the taking of Ciudad Rodrigo. The men of the 52nd would not be happy until Colonel Colborne was in command of them again, for there was no officer who more thoroughly understood outpost work, none more beloved. ‘Oh, for Colborne!’ they groaned, whenever anything went amiss. But he had had his shoulder so badly shattered in the assault on Rodrigo that it was doubtful whether he ever would return to the Peninsula.

At the end of January, the troops had the satisfaction of knowing that Beau Douro was amongst them again. The sight of his well-known figure had always a most cheering effect upon the army. It was hoped his lordship had enjoyed himself, junketing about Cadiz: he looked very well, and seemed to be in excellent spirits, so no doubt he meant to give King Joseph some hard knocks in the coming campaign.

Early in February, much to their disgust, the Smiths had to leave their billet in Fuentes de Onoro, to go with General Vandeleur to Fuente Guinaldo. Brigade headquarters had been moved there, to make room for the Spanish headquarters in Fuentes de Onoro. No one appreciated the change, for it was much colder at Guinaldo, besides being twenty-four miles distant from Frenada. The Smiths would have taken the Padre with them, but he had made up his mind to go back to Vicalbaro. Perhaps he was tired of cooking. At Guinaldo, Vandeleur was busy with Courts Martial. He had made the acquaintance of the new Judge-Advocate, a civilian, but a very pleasant fellow, who came over from Frenada on a handsome black horse, and seemed to be astonished at the army’s way of life. Since he happened to be spending the night in Vandeleur’s quarters, he accompanied him to a masked ball given by the officers of the Light division. All the belles of Guinaldo were present, some dressed as English officers: an indelicate frolic which rather shocked Mr Larpent: and all of them remarkably free and easy with the gay Light Bobs. Indeed, one plump, seductive creature was the cause of a minor disturbance, for she cuddled into the arms of Vandeleur’s why young Brigade-Major, in a convenient alcove, and cooed gently to him, with her cheek against the frogs on his jacket. The Brigade-Major’s eyes gleamed laughter between the slits of his mask; he did not seem to be unresponsive to his partner’s advances, judging from the way his arm encircled her waist; but while Mr Larpent idly watched him, a little stormy creature descended upon the Brigade-Major in a sudden flurry of fringed petticoats, and dealt him a ringing box on the ear. The Brigade-Major jumped up, shaking off the plump lady, and looking as though he would very much like to return the slap. His assailant addressed him in a torrent of low-voiced Spanish, which Mr Larpent was unable to understand; he shot out a rapid answer in the same tongue, and just as Mr Larpent, quite scandalized, moved forward to intervene, a very tall man in Rifle green strolled up, and swept the little dark creature into a waltz that was just starting.

Mr Larpent found General Vandeleur chuckling at his elbow. ‘By Jove, that young devil of mine has married a tartar!’ said the General. ‘Dear little soul, isn’t she?’ Mr Larpent was unable to agree with him. Juana, waltzing with Kincaid, still flushed and raging, did not look in the least like a dear little soul.

‘Malvada,’ Kincaid scolded softly. ‘What do you think you deserve for making scenes in public?’

‘I don’t care! I wish I had hit him harder!’

‘He’d have murdered you! Now, you know you are behaving disgracefully! English ladies don’t box their husbands’ ears-at least, not at masquerades!’

‘I am not English! I do not want to be English! He is faithless-no se inqirieta par nada!

‘You little devil, he’ll care for being made a fool of in public fast enough! Besides, you know he doesn’t mean anything by just flirting a little.’

‘He is dancing with her!’ Juana said in a shaking voice.

‘Of course he is! I would myself, if my wife came and slapped my face for putting an arm round a pretty girl’s waist!’

‘You are as horrible as he is, and I am going home-instantaneamente!’ ‘No, no, you can’t do that! Everyone will laugh at you if you do!’

Juana informed him between gritted teeth that the whole army was at liberty to laugh at her. He led her off the floor at the end of the dance, and was still persuasively arguing with her when the band struck up the next waltz. Juana said. ‘Either you will take me home now, or I go by myself!’ and suddenly saw Harry, his mask discarded, descending upon her. ‘You’ll dance this with me!’ Harry said, grasping her hand, and pulling her roughly into his arms.

‘I won’t!’ Juana said, but in rather a frightened voice.

He paid no attention, but began to waltz with her. He held her in an arm that felt like steel, and his grip on her hand crushed all her fingers together. He said in a molten under-voice: ‘What the hades did you mean by slapping my face? Answer me!’

‘You know very well, and if you don’t let me go I will do it again!’ whispered Juana. He looked down at her for an instant, his face rather white, and his eyes bright with anger. ‘You had better not, mi muchacha!’

Juana thought that perhaps she had better not. She said: “Then you had better not flirt with that-that ramera!’

‘I’ll flirt with whom I damned well please! And don’t let me hear that word on your tongue again! How dare you use such language?’

‘If I knew a worse word, I would say it! I shall say anything I like!’ ‘You’re a vulgar, stupid, jealous, ill-conditioned brat!’ ‘And you are a libertine!’

Harry gave a sudden crack of scornful laughter. ‘It would serve you right if I was! If you ever dare to make a fool of me in public again, I’ll leave you! Comprende?’ Her steps faltered; she replied with difficulty: ‘You would like to be rid of me, I daresay.’ ‘Very much, when you serve me a trick like that!’

The music stopped. Juana wrenched her hand out of his, and walked away to where Kincaid was lounging against the wall. He straightened himself, and said: ‘You know, Juana, you and Harry are the best dancers in the room!’

‘I am going home,’ said Juana, in a stifled voice. ‘Very well,” Kincaid said, catching the glint of a tear on her cheek. I’ll take you, then.’ There was a light crust of snow in the cobbled street, and the night air was very cold. Juana pulled the hood of her camlet cloak over her head, and walked beside her tall escort in silence. At the door of her lodging, he said: ‘Mi querida amiga, cheer up! If Harry has a regular pepper-pot of a temper, so have you, you know!”

‘Yes,’ said Juana. ‘I know.’

She said good night, and went into the house. The fire had sunk very low in the room she and Harry slept in, and a biting draught whistled under the rickety door. Juana put some charcoal into the brazier with shaking hands, shed all her finery, turned down the lamp, and crept shivering into bed. Half-an-hour later, sobs still catching her breath, she heard the outer door open, and shut with a crash. She shrank under the blankets, pulling them over her head, and clenched her teeth on her damp handkerchief in an effort to suppress her convulsive sobs. Harry’s quick step sounded; he came into the room. ‘Juana!’ he said sharply.

She lay mouse-still. He turned up the lamp again, saw the pathetic mound under the blankets, and went up to the bed, and relentlessly pulled the clothes from over his wife’s head. ‘Don’t pretend you’re asleep!’ he said wrathfully. ‘If this doesn’t beat all! First you slap my face, then you-’ He broke off, his anger suddenly evaporating at the sight of Juana’s wet eyelashes, and shivering limbs. ‘Oh, you wicked, precious, little varmint!’ he exclaimed, gathering her into his arms. ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry, my poor baby! It was all my fault!’ ‘Oh no! Oh no!’

‘You silly, naughty child, you’re ice-cold! Do you want to catch your death, bad one?’ ‘I don’t c-care, for you w-wish to be rid of me!’

‘Never!’

‘You said you did!’ ‘No, no, I didn’t say that!’

‘But you did, and I wish very much to die!’ wept Juana. ‘If I said it, it was a black lie! Mi queridissima muger!’

‘Oh, mi Enrique, I am so very, very sorry!’ Juana said, flinging her arms round his neck. ‘It was bad of me to hit you, and vulgar, and-and ill-conditioned, and I expect she was not that thing which you have forbidden me to say! And perhaps you were not flirting with her after all, and it was only my wicked jealousy!’

‘Alas, alas!’ Harry said, kissing first one eyelid and then the other, ‘I was, and she was, and I deserve to have both my ears boxed!’

‘Oh, malvado!’ Juana said, her tears turning to laughter. ‘Shameless one!’ ‘Libertine!’ grinned Harry. ‘Oh, Juana, you absurd infant, what should I do without you?’