Jack’s position was getting awkward. He heartily wished himself back amongst the mud and filth of Balaclava, amongst the wretchedness and dangers of the camp. Though this imperious young beauty could not be a day older than Jack, he felt like a baby in her hands.
‘It would be impossible for me to do as you suggest,’ he said lamely. ‘In the English army we join for a number of years, and I have yet ten to serve.’
‘But money can buy your liberation, can it not?’
‘Yes, but I have none,’ said Jack desperately, thinking he had at last scored a point.
‘No matter,’ continued Irma with a merry laugh; ‘Alexis has plenty. Not a word, it is settled. Now for my English lesson.’
The day passed most pleasantly. The count did not return that night.
Next morning Irma and Jack were in the music-room, when outside they heard a good deal of noise. They looked out of the window, and to their surprise saw a party of Cossacks who had ridden in. Captain Kirchoff, the officer in command, was talking to Sergius, who appeared to be arguing with him, when the captain called to a trooper, who struck Sergius with the butt-end of his lance, knocking him down. The officer then spurred past, and, dismounting, entered the house.
Irma’s face grew scarlet with passion, her aristocratic blood boiled. ‘By my father’s soul!’ she cried, ‘the presumptuous dog shall learn he cannot lay a hand on a servant of our house on our domain. His shoulders shall feel the knout when Alexis hears of this!’
‘Let us go and see what is amiss,’ said Jack quietly, who with a sinking heart guessed what had brought the Cossacks there.
A servant came hurrying forward toward Jack and Irma. ‘An officer from Sebastopol wishes to see the young excellency at once,’ he said, bowing.