Zulu Hart by Saul David Read Free Book Online Page A

General Wolseley’s victorious war against the Ashanti of the Gold Coast in ‘74. It had been the talk of the school. It was a bit odd, he thought, for a widow to be staying with a man like Harris, a committed bachelor with a reputation as a ladies’ man. Then again, with a rake like the Prince of Wales setting the social agenda, what could you expect?

    He entered the bedroom, with only a towel wrapped round his waist, to find a young chambermaid unpacking his clothes. She did not notice George at first, giving him a chance to admire a curvaceous figure that not even her drab black uniform and white apron could disguise.

    ‘What’s your name?’ asked George, as he reached for his Paisley pattern dressing gown.

    The girl jumped at the sound of his voice and turned. She was extremely handsome, with green eyes and alabaster skin, her lovely oval face framed by a few wisps of curly chestnut hair that had escaped from her white cap. ‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ she said, bobbing. ‘My name’s Lucy Hawkins.’

    ‘Pleased to meet you, Lucy Hawkins. Where are you from?’

    ‘Devon, sir.’

    ‘And your family? What do they do?’

    ‘My father’s a farrier and my mother’s in service, as are my two sisters.’

    George nodded, desperately trying to think of a way to keep the conversation going, and prevent this vision of loveliness from leaving. ‘How old are you?’ he said at last.

    ‘Eighteen, sir.’

    ‘Same age as me. Oh, and don’t call me sir. My name’s George, George Hart.’

    ‘I know, sir. We’re given a list of all the guests’ names.’

    ‘Of course you are. Tell me, Lucy, do you enjoy working for Colonel Harris?’

    The girl raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s an odd question. Why do you ask?’

    ‘Oh, no reason in particular. It’s just that most of the officers serving under the colonel, myself included, find him a little temperamental.’

    ‘Cornet Hart, I appreciate your condescension, but I really don’t think it’s my place to discuss my employer with a man I’ve never met, even one as affable as you.’

    George chuckled. The girl obviously had beauty, spirit and vocabulary, a dangerous combination. ‘Thank you for the compliment, and please accept my apologies. Of course you mustn’t indulge in tittle-tattle about your master. Whatever next? But I think I can surmise, even from your guarded response, that the colonel has his moments.’

    ‘You can surmise what you like,’ said Lucy, as she hung George’s smoking jacket in the wardrobe. ‘I prefer to hold my tongue.’

    ‘Clever girl. You’ll go far,’ said George, laughing. ‘Don’t bother with the rest,’ he said, gesturing towards his clothes. ‘But if I need you later, will you be available?’

    ‘I’m on duty all night, sir. Just ring the bell by the bed.’

    ‘I’ll do that. Thank you.’

    George had never been shy around women. He knew they found him attractive, and some of the young ladies he had met while at Sandhurst had all but thrown themselves at him. And yet his only two sexual partners to date had been a kitchen girl at Harrow and a Haymarket prostitute. He often asked himself why. And the best answer he could give was that he feared awkward questions about his background; the sort of questions that lower-class girls like Lucy were unlikely to ask. He was intrigued by Mrs Bradbury, though, and looked forward to meeting her. It promised to be quite an evening.

    With seven fast approaching, he dressed hurriedly in black evening dress and white bow tie, and made it to the drawing room before the clock struck the quarter-hour. It was a high- ceilinged, beautifully proportioned room with heavy silk drapes covering three picture windows that overlooked the front and side of the house. The furniture was Louis XVI, as was the large crystal chandelier that dominated the centre of the room.

    ‘Ah, Hart,’ said Harris, catching sight of George, ‘come and meet the other guests.’

    They were