He smiled and raised his hand in salute. She pretended not to notice, but walked on, away from the throng, beyond the circle of light cast by the fire, into the nearby shadows. She knew he would follow, and he did.
“Mrs. Bertram—Mary. What a delight. I knew you were a daring little piece. Here we are, alone at last.” His eyes gleamed and his voice was slurred and thick, and Mary realised that he was already drunk.
“Captain Templeton, my only motive for seeking you out tonight, was to inform you directly that your attentions to me are unwelcome.” She could not make out the Captain’s countenance very well in the shadows, but she could see that he stopped reeling about, and his shoulders stiffened.
“Oh, Mary!” There was no mistaking the resentment in his voice. “What are you about? What game are you playing, damn you?”
“There is no game, sir. As my earlier hints have been in vain, I wish to make it clear to you, that you have been presumptuous. Your supposed gallantries must cease. I know that they will, after this explanation.”
He took a step closer and spoke down to her with quiet menace.
“Why, you little tease. Have you found someone else you’d rather let between your legs? Believe me, madam, I would never have looked twice at a scrawny little thing like you, if you hadn’t been a-teasing and a-flirting and batting those long lashes at me, Mrs. Bertram. The oh-so-respectable Mrs. Bertram, that you are.”
He looked almost demonic, half in shadow, half lit by the flames of the bonfire. How could she ever have thought him well-looking? He was a common, coarse, lewd drunkard. She glared back at him, determined not be intimidated.
“Sir, I no longer know you. Kindly do not address me again.”
She turned away—he grabbed her arm, and pulled her back to face him. His other hand clamped down on her breast and gave it a painful squeeze.
“You little strumpet, now you’re going to play the great lady and pretend you haven’t been begging for it?” His whiskey-soaked breath made her stomach recoil. “I will show you what happens to lying little trollops like you.”
As he pulled her closer, Mary swiftly snatched her hat pin from her bonnet with her free hand and plunged it deep into his cheek. He jumped back, howling: “What the devil! Damn you for a whore!”
Mary picked up her skirts and ran—ran back toward the bonfire, where a shower of sparks and a crescendo of whoops and cries signalled the end of Napoleon. She hurried through the stamping, cheering, dancing throng, until she rejoined the safety of the ladies enclosure. Mrs. Malcolm greeted her with a raised eyebrow and she attempted to smile.
“You appear agitated, my dear Mrs. Bertram,” said Mrs. Malcolm. “I trust this unruly crowd does not alarm you?”
“I am quite well, I thank you, Mrs. Malcolm.” And Mary willed her racing heart to stop throbbing. She watched anxiously in all directions for the Captain’s form in the dark coming after her, but she did not see him.
“There is something rather primitive and wild about this ceremony, isn’t there, Mrs. Bertram,” Mrs. Malcolm said. “I fancy we stand in the spot where, for many centuries before us, other folk gathered under the moon to commemorate victory in battle, or the deaths of chieftains, in just this fashion.”
“We are not savages,” said Mary.
“Oh, I fear that we are,” answered Mrs. Malcolm. “Under the thin veneer of civilisation, we are all savages.”
Mary looked at her, then looked away and spotted the tall form of Edmund approaching on foot, with Thomas trotting beside him. She had seldom been so pleased to see her husband.
“Mr. Bertram! You did well to return to us so quickly,” exclaimed Mrs. Malcolm. “Alas, you missed the most interesting part of the drama.”
“We are in time for bonfire at its height, I think,” said Edmund. “And we could see it, indeed, from the base of the hill, couldn’t we, Thomas.”
“I meant the end of Napoleon,” said Mrs. Malcolm. “Napoleon has been immolated. For good and all and at last, one can only hope.”
Edmund looked at Mary and smiled.
“Are you warm enough, Mary?” he gestured at the blanket he held over his arm.
“Thank you, Edmund,” and she allowed him to drape the blanket around her. “No, put it around both Thomas and me.” She pulled her little boy tight to her, so tightly that he squirmed and wiggled away, never taking his eyes from the flames.
* * * * * * *
Captain Templeton did not appear in church on Sunday morning, but neither did many other of the men who had attended the great bonfire the previous night. Mary remained in a ferment of anxiety, fearing some dreadful retaliation.
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday passed, and Mary did not pay any visits, nor was she at home to any callers, giving as her excuse some indisposition on the part of her youngest son.
Fortunately the next great event, the annual dinner at the White Linen Hall, was an all-male affair. She, along with Mrs. Ritchie and Mrs. Malcolm, had been consulted as to the menu, the hiring of waiters and the supply of sufficient plate and silver. The ladies attended at the hall beforehand, to ensure everything was in readiness. The results of their efforts looked very well in the morning sun which streamed through the tall windows of the vast meeting room. “Everything looks grand,” said Mrs. Ritchie, surveying the neatly-laid tables draped in white linen, the china plates, the crystal and the silver, with pride. Then she laughed. “Fancy how it will look in about six hours. A
