Читать книгу Royal Regiment - Gilbert Frankau - Страница 29

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Godden, however—Bombardier Calvert informed his battery commander, when he drew rein at the door of his office—had “obtained a special pass from Captain Patterson” and would not be back “till reveille”. So Rusty Rockingham—Gilchrist appearing—handed over the mare and went to his quarter.

The two rooms—once Noakes had taken away the muddy boots and the dripping Patrick—seemed a trifle more cosy than usual. Changing into slacks and his old shooting coat, he decided to have tea sent over and do a couple of hours’ work on his shell.

Then he remembered his letters, still lying unopened on the table.

Four of the six envelopes obviously contained circulars; the fifth some dividend warrants he had asked his bank to send him. The sixth, wallet-shaped, was addressed in an unknown handwriting which might be either a man’s or a woman’s.

“Wonder who this is from?” he thought, as he slit the flap with his ivory paperknife.

Then he read:

“Dear Major Rockingham,

My husband and I will be so glad if you can spend next weekend with us”.

Directions for finding the house, and the words, “My husband will be hunting on Saturday and I have to go out to lunch. But I shall be home by three o’clock, so come as soon after that as you like”, followed. The signature was, “Camilla Wethered”.

“Brigadier’s orders”, said the humour in Rockingham.

Nevertheless, as his pen traced that first, “Dear Lady Wethered”, the poet Coningsby’s words re-echoed in his mind.