Blood Autumn Page 3

  Hamilton's eyes shifted to his wife, then back to Lyttleton, and as his withered lips lifted, a thin line of saliva drooled out of the corner of his mouth. The blue eyes seeped a white discharge. Quickly Lyttleton stepped back to allow the others to greet Hamilton.

  Hamilton glanced again at August, who stood most attentively by his side, and momentarily Lyttleton thought he saw fear in his friend's ruined face. Surely, though, he must be mistaken.

  Still stunned by this dreadful decay in his friend, he wondered what terrible thing had happened to Hamilton while he served in India. Perhaps, as Montchalmers had suggested the previous day, Tommy had suffered from a brain fever. Surely, not even that would do it. Lyttleton was no doctor, but he knew it took more than a fever to ravage a man in this manner. Or might Hamilton have fallen prey to some lingering tropical disease? God knew, the barbaric country was practically rotten with them. Whatever it had been, had it occurred after the couple were wed? Or before? If the latter, Lyttleton thought, then August was a veritable saint to marry this ruined man and to care for his infirmities.

  Admiration for the beautiful woman's courage and dedication filled Lyttleton. How tragic that such a young and vitally alive woman was burdened by this invalid. He shook himself and frowned slightly, displeased with his uncharitable thought, and reminded himself that this pitiful invalid was his good friend. He saw the outline of shrunken legs beneath the plaid blanket. Surely, Hamilton could not serve as a proper husband to his wife. Lyttleton ran his tongue across his dry lips.

  August took out a daintily embroidered handkerchief and, unconscious of the men's stares, dabbed at the damp sides of Tommy's mouth. She was murmuring something to her husband, and while Lyttleton couldn't hear the words, he could distinguish the tone, and it was loving and concerned, and that further saddened him.

  With great effort Tommy jerked his clawlike hand up in one palsied motion, and knocking the handkerchief aside, he shrieked, "No, no, don't!"

  A moment of embarrassed silence followed, then Lyttleton cleared his throat.

  "Well, old man" — and he winced inwardly as he realized he'd used the unfortunate phrase twice now — "Henry claims you must have made a bloody — beg pardon, ma'am — fortune in diamonds and rubies over there. Come now, you must tell us all about your time in India, Tommy, for you must know we're eager to hear each and every tale." He spoke in a cheerful tone and suspected it sounded forced. His friends looked just as dazed as he felt, and neither had spoken since they'd greeted Hamilton.

  "Er, yes, do tell us, Tommy." Montchalmers tried to smile, but failed.

  Terns' skin had a slightly greyish cast to it, as though he were ill. He would not look at the man in the chair.

  Tommy shifted his eyes to the woman, then back to Lyttleton. "I have diamonds." He nodded, his head seeming to wobble on his neck. "Rubies. Oh yes." His voice rose like a querulous old man's. "Blood rubies they are." He peered at August, then cackled, the sound rising higher and higher. It faintly resembled a laugh, but became more maddening with every moment until Lyttleton wanted to put his hands over his ears to shut the revolting sound out.

  He was spared that by the entrance of the elderly servant, who announced that dinner was served.

  August leaned over to whisper in her husband's ear, and his laughter abruptly cut off. The ensuing silence was almost worse. Montchalmers stepped forward to help push Hamilton's wheelchair into the next room.

  "Please permit me, ma'am, to assist you." His voice was as sombre as his face.

  She raised a hand slightly and shook her head. "Thank you, Mr. Montchalmers," she murmured, "but I always help my husband. I think it helps to calm him." Hamilton shuddered.

  Wineglasses in hand, the three friends glanced at one another, then followed the Hamiltons into the spacious dining salon, and once they were seated with Hamilton at one end of the long table, his wife next to him so that she could assist him, Lyttleton across from her, Terris seated to his left, and Montchalmers to her right, the three men started talking at once.

  "So much has happened in the past two years, old man" — that phrase again, Lyttleton thought sorrowfully — "that frankly I don't know where to begin to bring you up to date. Of course, you had my letters, Tommy, although I must confess yours were rather sparse."

  "I had a few," Montchalmers added quickly, "but then, Tommy was never much of a faithful correspondent. Too, I'm sure Tommy was quite busy with whatever it is that soldiers do." His smile this time proved more successful.

  Again silent, Terris looked as though he would begin weeping any moment.

  "Well, at least we had those to keep us in touch, right?" Montchalmers nodded eagerly, while Lyttleton cleared his throat. Lyttleton had to keep talking, as did Montchalmers; he had to fill the damning silence. He drained his wine, filled the glass with more, and knew that they were all drinking too much, far too much, but he didn't care.

  While Lyttleton and Montchalmers chattily brought their friend up to present on all the gossip and news of the past two years, the servant brought in the first course, a beef broth.

  Lyttleton noticed that August sipped a little of her soup, then set her spoon down to watch her husband, who was idly tracing circles in his bowl with his spoon. Tommy Hamilton caught her watching him, and his face clouded over, and he looked as though he wanted to shriek.

  Other courses were brought, and August ate little. She had to be upset, Lyttleton told himself, for this was no doubt the first time she had presented her husband to his friends. What a strain it must be on her, and once again he found himself admiring her courage.

  Finally, the main course was set before them and Lyttleton applied himself hungrily to it. So far his appetite had not suffered. Hamilton stared at the cut of rare beef on his plate, and suddenly the emaciated man began weeping.

  It was quiet, unlike the wild laughter earlier, and because of that it was all the more pathetic. His thin shoulders shook, yet he made no noise.

  "I am sorry, gentlemen," August Hamilton said, rising gracefully and setting her linen napkin down, "but my husband is greatly fatigued and should go to bed now. Please, excuse us."

  The three men rose as one and silently watched as she went around to Hamilton and pulled his chair away from the table. His face buried in his hands, Hamilton did not look up.

  Without being summoned, the butler appeared and opened the door for them. It closed quietly behind the Hamiltons, and the three friends sank slowly into their respective chairs as they stared at one another.

  *

  "We should leave now," Lyttleton suggested, half rising from his chair.

  Montchalmers waved him down. "I don't think so. After all, we were invited for dinner, and while things have been a little . . . unpleasant, it would be rude of us to run out on her now. And that's precisely why we should stay. She needs the support now."

  "Besides, we have to find out," Terris' quiet voice added. "We have to know what happened to Tommy." His voice broke, and he glanced away.

  Lyttleton nodded silently. Question after question flitted through his mind, and he dismissed them, one by one, as being unsuitable. He couldn't press this woman for details when she had suffered already. Too, he truly wanted to go home. He was emotionally drained from this evening, and wanted to rest and try to forget some of it, at least for a few hours.

  Before the men could speak further, August entered with a rustle of her skirts. She smiled apologetically at her guests.

  "My husband is resting comfortably now. Would you care to retire to the library?"

  The three men nodded, for their appetites had fled with the ruins of the dinner, and followed her down the hallway to the library, where they settled into comfortable chairs and sipped after-dinner drinks. Or rather, Lyttleton corrected wryly, the drinks that would serve as their dinners tonight.

  For some minutes each man remained silent, lost in his own thoughts, but Lyttleton knew what was uppermost in his mind, just as he knew the thoughts of the others. What
in God's name had happened to Tommy to reduce him to this pitiable state?

  Still, they were gentlemen, and embarrassed, and didn't know what to say or how to broach it to this poor woman who had endured so much. Someone has to, Lyttleton thought, after he'd listened to Montchalmers clear his throat for the fifth time. Someone has to speak, has to be the first.

  Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Lyttleton set his empty glass down on the table next to him and shifted slightly in his chair.

  "August — Mrs. Hamilton — "

  "Yes?" she responded, her voice so soft.

  Soft as black velvet, and the image it brought was warm and fragrant, and desirable. Sternly Lyttleton forced his mind back to what he had to say.

  "How did your husband, that is, how did Tommy come to . . ." Lyttleton stumbled to a lame halt, and cursed himself for bungling it so. She must think him an absolute fool.

  "How did Tommy have his health ruined?" she supplied for him. Her dark eyes were so compassionate, he knew she did not think him a fool.

  "Yes."

  "Please," said Terris hoarsely, "how did you meet him, and when?"

  Montchalmers merely smiled at her.

  August pushed back a strand of black hair that had fallen over her forehead, a gesture watched intently by the three men.. She breathed deeply, and Lyttleton could see the pain these memories brought her. She folded her hands in her lap, and with other women the gesture might have been prim, but with her the flexing of her fingers, the angle of her hands seemed almost provocative. He shook his head at the absurd notion.

  "It is somewhat of a long story. I don't know if you would wish to listen to it, for I'm sure you will find it quite boring."

  "Not at all!" Montchalmers said. "We would love to hear it. Please, do go on."

  She nodded, and indicated that they should refill their wineglasses. When August began speaking, her voice was calm in what had to be a supreme effort in keeping emotion from coloring it.

  "I am the daughter of a British colonial, gentlemen," she said. "My father lived in India most of his adult life, and India is where I was born. We lived in the northern regions of the country and moved to Delhi in December of 1856. A few months later I attended a party given by a friend of my father's, and there I was introduced to Lieutenant Hamilton." She paused, her face relaxing as the memories returned.

  "He was so handsome and dashing in his uniform, more so than any of the other officers, and all the women there were in love with him. I did not have an opportunity to speak with him before we dined, but later, as I went out onto the verandah, I heard someone behind me and found that Tommy had followed me outside. We talked much in the next few hours, he of his life in England, me of my life in India. As we talked I knew I wanted to see him again, and I hoped that he felt the same away. But when the evening was finished, he said nothing and my spirits were dashed. My father and I returned home, and I believed I would see the handsome lieutenant no more.

  "I was wrong."

  Lyttleton glanced at her and saw that the darkness of her eyes had shifted subtly. Suddenly a chill ran through him, and he realized that he felt slightly uneasy, though, he told himself, perhaps that was because of what had happened with Tommy earlier. It was the only explanation, wasn't it?

  She continued in her narrative.

  She did not see him for many weeks, and then they met again at a concert. She invited him home, and once he was at her house, they rediscovered their attraction for one another. As he was leaving, Hamilton asked her father if he could call again, to which the older man readily agreed.

  Thereafter, Tommy and she devoted much time to each other, having discovered they shared a mutual attraction. They attended various parties given by the other colonials, went to the theater, and strolled hand-in-hand along moonlit walks.

  But all the while their affection was blossoming, something much more unpleasant was growing. For months an undercurrent of unrest had rumbled through the country, vague with half-whispers of uneasiness between the native Indians and their British overlords. There were reports of isolated incidents, unpleasant stories that were quickly hushed whenever an Englishwoman entered the room. Tommy listened to the reports and rumors, and growing concerned, he urged August and her father to leave the country for their own safety. He told August he would miss her, but he didn't wish anything to happen to her.

  Her father stoutly refused to leave, claiming that he and his daughter would be fine, and no matter how much Tommy Hamilton argued, the old colonial just shook his head.

  A few months later, in May, the Sepoy Rebellion began when the Indian soldiers revolted against their British officers.

  "I will spare you the details of that terrible struggle," August said, "for I'm sure you are already acquainted with them."

  Terris nodded, his face dark with renewed grief over his brother; Montchalmers only bit his lip and closed his eyes as he recalled what he had heard. Lyttleton, like his friends, was familiar with the details, for he had read the horrifying accounts in the British newspapers, had heard the gruesome tales of those travelers and colonials who had managed to leave the country before they were caught up in the deadly maelstrom. Others were not so fortunate, and from them came tales of torture and mutilation of British men, as well as women and children, tales of appalling murders that demonstrated too late to the British the long-suppressed resentment and hatred of the Indians.

  The survivors who had returned to England had told their fellow countrymen of the hells they had faced in that far-off country. The hells that August had faced, Lyttleton reminded himself.

  This elegant and beautiful woman sitting before them had survived the terrors of the mutiny, and he was filled with wonder. Quickly he searched her face, as though believing he could see scars of that hideous ordeal, but it was unblemished and any she might possess were hidden inside. He forced his attention back to her lest he miss any of her tale.

  She had paused to take a sip of her wine. When she next spoke, her voice was scarcely above a whisper. "My first thoughts were with Tommy, but I could not discover if he lived, for he was quartered in Meerut, forty miles away, while I was still in Delhi. I lived in a blackness for days, not knowing his fate. That was far worse. It was later that I discovered from Tommy's fellow officers what had happened. As you might expect, gentlemen, Tommy fought gallantly.

  "My father and I did not suffer as others did. While our house was attacked the day after the mutiny began, we managed to repel the invaders, and thereafter we hid in the cellar until help arrived. Others — our friends and acquaintances, the other Europeans who did not flee — met a different fate. All died, many in the most gruesome ways." She closed her eyes, and Lyttleton could well imagine the sufferings she had witnessed. Curiously, though, a faint expression, almost like a smile, lingered on her lips.

  "When my father and I were forced upon occasion to leave the cellar for food, we dressed as Indians and went out only at night, and thus did we live until the British assault upon Delhi in mid-September and the city's subsequent fall. The rebels were hunted down, and the streets were filled with the dead and the dying, both Indian and English. It was a terrible sight, for the dogs and vultures scavenged among the bodies bloated from the sun and heat." She touched her tongue to a drop of wine glistening on her lower lips. "Some order was restored by the British, and after we were rescued, I asked after Tommy. I had not seen him for months and feared the worst. No one seemed to know what had happened to him, and my hope of ever seeing him alive diminished. But one night some weeks later I saw him stumbling down our street. I called for my father, and we brought Tommy back to our house. He was suffering from various wounds received in battle and running a high fever, and he did not seem to know us."

  August said that she nursed Tommy through his long illness, never leaving his side and often going without food or rest. Her father was concerned about her own health, but she refused to leave the wounded man. Slowly Tommy improved, and as he convalesced they re
discovered one another, and the deep attraction that had existed between them earlier now blossomed into love. When Tommy was once again well, he and August talked of marriage. The couple settled on a short engagement, and within a few months they were married.

  Their happiness, however, proved too to be short-lived. Only a few weeks after their marriage Tommy's illness returned, and it was further compounded by a fever which was then spreading throughout the country. She went from doctor to doctor, seeking help, but none of them could offer hope, and slowly, agonizingly, her husband wasted away until he became what they saw that night. Her sorrow was twofold, for her father died from the same fever.

  "I knew then that the only hope of saving Tommy's life was to return him to his homeland where he could be treated by the excellent English doctors and where he would be removed from the ill effects of the tropical climate. Thus, when he was strong enough to travel, we came to England." Finished with her tale, August closed her eyes and leaned her head back.

  Shadows lay smudged under her eyes, and her skin was even paler than earlier, and while Lyttleton thought she looked exhausted, she still had the strange twist to her lips. Puzzled, he glanced at his companions. Terris and Montchalmers had listened rapt to her narrative, never speaking, never moving. Now they stirred, Montchalmers being the first to speak.

  "It's an incredible story, Mrs. Hamilton," he said, deeply affected, "and I commend you highly upon your immense courage and strength. How terrible it must have been for you, ma'am!" He shuddered dramatically.

  "My dear Mrs. Hamilton," exclaimed Terris almost immediately, his voice slightly breathless, "is there anything that I — we — can do for you? There is no need for you to struggle with this burden by yourself. Please! Allow us to help!"

  Lyttleton, alone of the three men, remained silent. Her tale had affected him, too. But something had made him uneasy, and he didn't know what it was. In one way her story seemed as though it had been recited from memory, and yet that couldn't be what bothered him. He did not have long to reflect upon it, however, for Terris stood almost at once and nodded to his friends.