Strange Strange World Box Set

Chapter 8: Warrick

Chapter 8: WarrickTime passed, and the pain of my separation from Thomas—and home, of course—gradually eased. I found myself enjoying living in Canada.

My studies went well, and as it turned out, I had a knack for spacial dimensions. As a result, I could also design houses that not only had an air of elegance about them but were comfortable to live in. A local firm saw one of my designs and was impressed enough to acquire it for a client. Both the firm and the client were pleased with the results, and the outcome was the promise of a junior position once I’d graduated.

I saw Mother during the holidays—she’d moved into a cottage on the property her father owned—but we had less and less to say to one another, as she had become involved with Aubrey Clarke, a neighbour of her parents. That was an interesting coincidence, since he had chanced to cross the Atlantic with us on the Ceto, and he and Mother renewed their friendship at that time.

From what I was given to understand—local gossip having a very long memory—they had been sweethearts more than thirty years before.

But if that were the case, why in heaven’s name had she agreed to marry Father?

“Aubrey and I had quarrelled. Your father had a title.”

“He’s a baronet. That’s only one step up from a knight.”

She gave me a sour look. “I confused it with a baron.”

I ground my teeth. “Do you intend to tell Father?” I asked. It was safe to talk freely. We were alone in the parlour of the house where she’d grown up, waiting for her parents to return from Mass, since it was a Sunday and they were Catholic.

“Why should I? Do you have any idea when I last heard from him? The day the Ceto docked in Montreal. He didn’t even respond to my telegramme—he had John do it. And all John did was simply thank me for sending it and tell me he’d inform your father.”

“You know Father isn’t much of a letter writer.”

“That’s a convenient excuse.” She flushed and looked away.

Nevertheless, it was the truth. The only thing that kept me connected with home were the letters I received from Thomas. I learned more from him of what was happening with my family than from Father and my half-brothers.

I took a turn about the room. “Do you expect me to inform Father?”

“Of course not. It’s not as if I plan to ask Sir John for a divorce—it so happens I like being Lady Helena. And I’m hardly likely at this stage of my life to present him with a token of any man’s affection.”

My jaw dropped, and I stared at her in dismay. s*x? Was she talking about having s*x?

“You young people think you invented marital relations.” She walked to the window, moved the curtain, and gazed out into the winter afternoon. “Aubrey will be joining us for dinner. Be kind to him.”

The problem was, Aubrey was a decent sort, and I wouldn’t have minded becoming friendly with him if it wouldn’t have been a gross betrayal of my father.

Dinner that evening was tense, to say the least.

In other words, exactly like home.

* * * *

I returned to university to find one of Thomas’s letters waiting for me.

Meggie’s expecting a blessed event! No, it’s not ours, you sod. The baby is due in about six months. Meggie married Alfie—

Good God, one of the grooms at Thorny Walk?

—last autumn, and they seem very happy!

I looked at the date on the letter. This news was at least five months old. I smiled and shook my head. If that wasn’t like Thomas to delay in sending off the letter.

I was pleased to hear that Meggie and Alfie had found happiness together. I’d write to Thomas and ask him to look into finding a gift for the baby when he or she arrived.

Given the length of time between letters, I expected the next letter I received to be filled with news about Meggie and Alfie’s baby, and while he did mention the birth of a little girl, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

You’ll never guess, Thorn!

I could tell his pleasure and excitement about the occurrences he’d describe by the number of exclamation points in each letter.

Your brother Harry is now a colonel! Perhaps once I’m commissioned also we shall run across each other!

Thomas was almost as army mad as my middle brother had been when he’d been much the same age, and I was certain that was why he’d chosen to attend Sandhurst.

My goal once I graduated from university had been nothing so lofty. I’d joined a local architectural firm, and once I’d accomplished that, I wrote to Thomas about it.

His response was, Congratulations, Mr Synclaire! I hope none of the buildings you design fall down upon their heads! Hah ha! Seriously, Thorn, I’m so happy your dreams are coming true!

And for your information, mine have, as well! Only fancy! I’ve got my commission! I’m Lieutenant Fortescue-Smythe now! The Mater has wept all down my brand new uniform, and Father was so proud I thought he would burst a button! Of course, Bertie, the sod, told me not to get above myself, but you know him, always ready to lord it over me and depress pretensions.

I could almost hear the excitement and laughter in his voice, and I smiled, amused by the affectionate disrespect with which he and his brother had always treated each other.

It was nothing like the strained relationship I had with my half-brothers, who were so much older than I. Because of the difference in ages, I had never been as close to John and Harry as perhaps any of us would have liked.

The letter after that brought sad news, as I could tell even before reading it by the utter lack of exclamation points. Father is dead, Warrick. The most foolish thing—he caught a cold, which settled in his chest and developed into an inflammation of the lungs, and he was gone within the week. I’ve been given emergency leave to be with Mother and Bertie. We’re all in shock. I wish you were here, my prickly Thorn. Father thought very highly of you, and I…well, you know.

I did know. I also knew he had to be discreet.

I was devastated, feeling the loss almost as keenly as my friend. Sir Henry had offered me unconditional acceptance, and had been more of a father to me than Sir John Synclaire. I sent Lady Eugenia, Thomas’s mother, my own letter of heartfelt condolence and let her know that had it been possible, I would have travelled home to be with Thomas and his family.

For some time afterward I heard nothing from Thomas beyond a note assuring me they were coping.

Eventually he was able to write in more detail, Bertie has assumed the baronetcy and is cutting a wide swath among the members of the opposite s*x, much to Mother’s despair. She’s trying to encourage him to settle down. Fortunately for me, she hasn’t yet decided that I need a steadying influence. His sense of humour was emerging once more. I think she’d be rather shocked at my choice of mate, don’t you, Thorn?

I smiled sadly. I’d had to accept it would never be me, and while at university had done a bit of swath-cutting myself, which I’d kept from Thomas.

The next letter had me a trifle concerned. Rumours of war, but that’s nothing new. I’m being sent to British West Africa. You needn’t worry about my safety. My RSM is Arch Cutter, and he’s a godsend. I wrote to you about him, remember?

I remembered. From what I had read between the lines, Regimental Sergeant Major Cutter was more than a godsend; I suspected the gentleman ranker might also be Thomas’s lover.

And if it were so…

I ground my teeth, went out and got drunk, and wound up in a stranger’s bed. We tussled for the upper position, and I let him think it was foreplay, but if I hadn’t won, I’d have walked out the door. Even a finger coming near my arsehole made me flinch away, although I never could tell why.

I staggered home the next morning, and while nursing a hangover with a remedy Thomas’s brother Bertie swore by, I gave myself a talking to. I couldn’t have it both ways, taking my own share of lovers and resenting Thomas for doing the same. I determined not to think of him sharing his bed with anyone again.

But the rumours of war were to prove true. The second week of September, I received a telegramme from England that suddenly brought it very close to home. Harry killed 7 Sept Battle of Marne stop Letter to follow stop John.

I didn’t wonder why Father hadn’t telegrammed me the news. If Thomas was a sporadic letter-writer, Father didn’t write at all, not even after Mother and I had first reached Canada. I’d sent him letters describing my progress at university and inquiring about his health and that of my brothers, and had received nothing in return beyond the odd missive from John.

I wasn’t there to receive my oldest brother’s letter, however. The Synclaires needed to be represented in this war. I knew Father would never permit John to go, since John was his heir, so that left only me. One way or another, I was determined to make Father proud of me.

I went into the first recruiting office I could find and enlisted in the Canadian army.