Jack Windrush Collection - Books 9-12

Chapter 1-2

By the time the riders had reached the foot of End Hill and headed up the grassy slopes of North Hill, they were already well spaced out. Crimea led Adam Hanley, a lithe lieutenant of the 113th named Harcourt, and a second lieutenant of the Royals. Then came David, a full two lengths behind, and the remainder followed in a long, straggling line of hopeful officers and local men desperate to show they could compete on their familiar hillsides.

“Move, David!” Mary shouted as the riders spurred along the ridge towards the next hill, with Crimea increasing his lead with every minute.

David seemed content to remain in his present position between the two groups. However, Crimea resorted to his whip and spurs, so by the time they reached North Hill, he was a clear three lengths ahead. The sergeant on North Hill, a broad-chested man of the Royal Malverns, cheered on his officer.

“Come on, David!” Mary nearly screamed. “Don"t let them get too far in front!”

Jack gripped Trent"s binoculars so hard his knuckles were white but said nothing, content to allow his wife to shout for both of them.

Rain swept from the west, dampening the grass, so some riders struggled to find footing for their mounts. Crimea continued, faster if anything, with Lieutenant Harcourt and Adam Hanley his main competitors. David fell behind, pushing at Tweed without resorting to the whip.

“Come on, David!” Jack muttered, bit through the end of his cheroot, cursed, and lit another. Mary did not lower the binoculars from her eyes.

As the riders streamed up the hill, it became evident that the majority was already out of the competition. Only the three riders beside Crimea were in the running, with David seemingly cantering behind and the rest only making up the numbers.

“He"s falling further back,” Jack said.

“David knows what he"s doing,” Mary spoke without moving. “I know my son; he"s like you, always got some ploy up his sleeve.”

Jack grunted again. “I am nothing like that. Come on, David, use your spurs for God"s sake!”

Mary glanced at her husband. “Blasphemy won"t help, Jack. Have a little faith.”

“I have all the faith in the world,” Jack said, “but I can"t stand to be beaten by William"s brood!”

“You"re as bad as they are,” Mary said and raised her voice. “Come on, David!”

North Hill led to Sugarloaf Hill, then the long haul to the Worcestershire Beacon, the highest point on the range. A mixed group of Royals and 113th stood on top, marking off the riders as they approached. Crimea was comfortably in front, with Adam Hanley next while Harcourt struggled desperately to close the gap.

“Good lad that Harcourt,” Jack said. “He"s not giving up.” He swivelled his gaze back to David, now a full eleven lengths behind the leading riders.

From the Worcestershire Beacon, the riders had a long descent down a ridge, where an area of broken ground split the leading group. By now well in front, Crimea avoided the broken ground, taking a wide detour, which the remainder of the leading group followed.

“What"re you doing, David?” Jack asked as his son finally put his head down, kicked in his heels and powered forward right into the series of rocks and gulleys. “You"ll break your fool neck! It"s only a blasted race, damn it!”

Mary gave a strange little laugh. “That"s the way, Andrew David Windrush! Show them how to ride!”

“That"s dangerous ground,” Jack insisted.

“David knows what he"s doing,” Mary insisted. “He"s had this planned all the time.”

Crimea looked sideways at David and spurred harder, using the whip unmercifully, so his horse bounded forward, while David pushed across the uneven ground, overtaking Harcourt and Adam Hanley.

“There"s a deep gulley ahead,” Jack failed to hide his concern. “We used to go rabbiting there. The ground is treacherous with the old burrows. Be careful, Davie!”

“David knows what he"s doing,” Mary said. “It"s Crimea who concerns me. He"s quite prepared to kill his horse to remain in front.”

Crimea was now six lengths ahead of his rivals, spurring and whipping like a man demented. In the meantime, David was approaching the gulley. Jack watched, knowing that David either had to ride around, or negotiate the downward slope and then face the rise on the opposite side. Either choice would lose him time, while Crimea was at the furthest point of his circuitous route. There was a single gnarled, wind-blasted apple tree that Jack used as a marker. Once Crimea reached that, all he had was a short, smooth pull up the slope to the winning post, where the colonels of both regiments waited.

David did not hesitate. While Jack expected him to lose speed to negotiate the gulley, David leaned forward, spoke to his horse, and kicked in his heels, just once. Tweed responded with a sudden burst of speed and a massive jump.

“Dear God in Heaven!” Jack breathed as for a moment he saw horse and rider suspended over the gulley. Jack had an image of David, his hat flying from his head, his body thrust forward to help his horse and his face animated as the horse leapt the chasm. If David failed, horse and rider would tumble down the steep side of the gulley, with broken limbs a near-certainty and a fractured neck a possibility.

“David!” Mary screamed, her voice alone in the sudden hush that descended on the crowded Malvern Hills. Hundreds of pairs of eyes and a score of binoculars focussed on the drama as David urged Tweed across the gap.

Tweed landed at the very edge of the gulley, scrabbled with his front hooves, and moved on, with David leaning forward in the saddle. Once across, it was a straight run up the slope to the finishing post at Summer Hill, but the hill was steep, and Crimea was pushing his horse harder than ever.

“Crimea is not giving up, yet!” Mary said.

Jack nodded. “He must be wondering how David can do it. So am I.”

“He"s your son,” Mary said. “Always full of surprises.”

“The young i***t could have broken his neck.” Jack concealed his pride.

With David now in front, Crimea used his whip and spurs to urge on his mount.

“Come on, David!” Mary shouted.

But the detour around the broken ground had been too much. Crimea"s horse was visibly tiring, so David"s lead increased to a full five lengths on the final hundred yards to the summit. Adam Hanley edged Harcourt on the last leg, with both riders grinning to each other as they finished behind Crimea and David.

Jack lowered Trent"s binoculars and realised he had bitten through his second cheroot. The stub lay on the grass at his feet, so Jack lit another.

“I told you David had a plan,” Mary said with her voice hoarse with shouting. “Shall we go?”

Jack nodded. “Yes, let"s see David in his moment of triumph.” He returned Trent"s binoculars, mounted Mathon and headed for Summer Hill. Mary kept level with him, and by the time they reached the finishing post, half the officers of both regiments were present.

As a neutral, the colonel of the local Volunteers presented the trophy, a small silver cup. He smiled as he handed it to David and made a short speech.

“Congratulations, Andrew David Baird Windrush,” he said with his whiskers bouncing at every word. “Your regiment will be proud of you!”

Mary nodded in approval that the colonel had included David"s full name, as William Windrush tried to control his temper.

“I have not joined one yet, sir,” David said. “I have to pass Sandhurst, first.”

“I am certain you will succeed there,” the colonel said.

“Thank you, sir.”

Lieutenant-Colonel William Windrush of the Royal Malverns, Jack"s half-brother, stood with a frown on his face as Crimea and David approached, both trying to wipe off the worst of the mud that spattered them. Crimea"s face was dark with anger, while David tried to hide his customary smile.

“Well done, lads!” Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Elliot of the 113th Foot greeted them with an extended hand. “You are a credit to your regiment, Crimea. And that was a piece of inspired riding, David; my heart was in my mouth when you made that leap.”

“Thank you, sir.” David hesitated, before accepting the colonel"s hand, for young men about to enter Sandhurst did not habitually shake hands with regimental colonels.

“And you, Crimea,” Colonel Elliot said. “You drove your horse long and hard. I have never seen a rider so committed.”

Crimea Windrush forced a smile as he shook Elliot"s hand.

“You"ll have a fine career in the Royal Malverns,” Elliot said. “You must be proud of your son, Windrush.”

“I am,” Colonel Windrush said, mounted his horse and rode away.

“You both did well,” Jack said. “And you other lads as well.” His rank as senior major of the 113th entitled him to have his say. “That was a hard ride for you all. You stuck to it well, Harcourt, and you too, Hanley.” For an instant, he was tempted to pat David"s shoulder but refrained. He would not embarrass his son in front of so many people. “Now get yourselves cleaned up.”

“Yes, sir,” Harcourt and David said, while Hanley grinned. Jack winked at Crimea, who gave a half-smile that made Jack wonder if there was a decent young officer there, behind the sulky exterior.

“For you military lads, there"s a joint regimental parade in two hours and a brigade dinner tonight, with family and guests. We can"t have the British Army"s newest second lieutenant looking like the last straggler of Corunna.” Jack favoured Crimea with a smile.

“Permission to leave, sir?” Crimea Windrush asked Elliot without responding to Jack"s words.

“Major Windrush has just ordered you to leave. Cut along now.” Elliot watched as the young riders remounted their horses and rode away, with Crimea spurring to be in front. “And there we have the future of the British Army,” he said to Jack.

“Aye, there we have it,” Jack agreed, trying not to watch his son.

“Good morning to you, fair maiden.” Elliot bowed to Mary. “I trust you are keeping this man in order.”

“As best I can,” Mary said.

“That will be order enough,” Elliot said solemnly. “Where did your David learn to ride like that?”

Mary smiled. “He"s good, isn"t he? He was always comfortable in the saddle, but he"s been spending time in Northumberland and the Borders recently, mixing with the local callants.”

“Ah,” Elliot said. “Reiver country. The Bold Buccleuch and his ilk.”

Mary"s face lit up. “You"ve read Walter Scott!”

“Everybody"s read Walter Scott, haven"t they?” Elliot said. “My ancestors were from the Borders, after all. My name it is Little Jock Elliot, and wha daur meddle wi me!” He quoted the well-known saying. “And now, Mrs Windrush, I fear I must drag your husband away. We have a parade in less than two hours and a brigade dinner after that.” He bowed. “I will see you at dinner.”

“You will, Arthur,” Mary agreed.

Although both regiments, the Royal Malverns and the 113th Foot, shared an association with Herefordshire, they could hardly have been more different. While the 113th was one of the newest regiments on the Army list, with all its battle honours earned in the last three decades, the Royal Malverns was one of the oldest. The Royals had marched with Marlborough, had fought through three Jacobite risings, and faced the French in North America in the Seven Years War. They had suffered from disease during the Mysore Wars, struggled through the Corunna campaign, and stood in a stubborn square at Waterloo. Consequently, the Royal Malvern officers looked down upon those of the 113th as their social and military inferiors. When the rank and file assumed a similar attitude, the result was always bloodshed, with belts, boots, and fists ready to wreak instant vengeance. Officers, however, could not be so open, and the result was only bad feeling, condescension, and barbed insults.

After a march around the southern Malvern Hills, both regiments paraded through the town of Great Malvern, with the Royals in front, as was their prerogative, and their band attracting attention from both residents and visitors to the health-spa town.

“We"d be better doing field exercises rather than marching like wooden soldiers,” Jack rode Mathon a few yards behind Elliot. “Parade ground drills are not much good in modern soldiering.”

Elliot smiled. “You wanted regimental soldiering, Jack, and this is it. Show the colours, impress the ladies with bright uniforms and jaunty music and gather recruits for the Queen.”

“The Queen-Empress now,” Jack said, “Disraeli promoted her.”

“I remember,” Elliot said. “She"ll always be Good Queen Vic to me.”

Jack grinned, “me too, Arthur. The Empress nonsense is only to keep upsides with this Wilhelm fellow, the Emperor of Germany.” He looked back over the 113th, noting with familiar dismay the preponderance of very young faces in the ranks. “I"d like to give these children some real training,” he said. “Get them ready if a war breaks out.”

Elliot nodded. “Let"s pray for peace, Jack. More worrying, we have the brigade dinner soon.” Elliot had known Jack since both were young lieutenants in the Crimean War; years of hard service had cemented their friendship. “Your favourite.”

“I hate the blasted things,” Jack said.

“I know,” Elliot said, smiling. “It"s worse than Inkerman for you.” He patted Jack"s shoulder. “Soldier on, man.”