‘How glad I shall be of that, sir.’
Sarcasm? He’d deserved it.
Sensing her response was feeble, she followed up by putting a sting in the tail. ‘And, if nothing else, there’ll be a reliable witness of the incident when my bullet-riddled body falls at the feet of the future king of England halfway through the last waltz.’
Chapter Eighteen
He let her talk on in the same vein, allowing her time to get the outrage out of her system.
‘Pity you didn’t outline your schemes earlier, sir — I could have got my seamstress to add a layer of body armour to the bodice perhaps. Plenty of room in there — as you noticed — for a layer or two of silk padding, after all. I can see the headlines in tomorrow’s Daily Mirror: “Mysterious maiden of the steppes lays down her life for young prince”. I must get together a few last words to deliver as I expire. Or have you already scripted them for me? I do hope Monsieur Diaghilev will be of the party tonight — he may be inspired to have it choreographed for the Ballets Russes.’
‘Trench humour is what I’m hearing, Wentworth.’ Joe spoke quietly. He understood. He’d have used much the same words himself in the circumstances. ‘And glad to be hearing it. It’s the fellows who make the most savage quips who come staggering back to base. And at last we’re talking the same language. I’ve no time for false heroics.’ He spread his capable hands and shook his head. ‘I know it’s a-’ he had been about to say ‘bugger’, she knew, and she smiled to hear him instantly censor the word and supply ‘tremendous nuisance, but Dame Duty calls and I’ve got tired of trying to shout the old bat down. Her clarion voice always breaks through. She called to you at Paddington. I saw you answer. I watched as you launched yourself at an armed miscreant without hesitation. Don’t try to confuse me, Wentworth — you’re as much in thrall to Duty as I am. And look at it this way: we’re all nothing but cogs in the machinery of State — the State we support and which supports us. Imagine Duty was speaking with the voice of your Boer War grandfather — what would you be hearing?’
A delve into her family history had turned up nothing embarrassing. On the contrary — two or three generations of soldiers, all laden with medals, duty never shirked, had featured in their research.
Lily answered his challenge at once: ‘“It’s a bugger, lass, but pick up thee musket and soldier on!” is what I’d hear from him. “Stand tall and hold the line!” he might have added. But Grandfather lived in a different world. My father no longer accepted such unthinking maxims. He did his duty — as I expect you’ve discovered. He went over the top when the whistle blew. But his mind and his heart were not what were moving him through the battlefield. His two driving forces were loyalty to his fellow soldiers and the threat of execution for desertion had he obeyed his instincts.’
‘An instinct for desertion?’ Joe said faintly, trying not to sound as disturbed as he felt.