Free Shoulder the Sky by Anne Perry Page B

Eldon.
    "No, sir, he simply asked to see you," Hadrian replied.
    "Did he tell you he was my nephew?" Cullingford asked. Surely Hadrian would have dealt with the matter himself otherwise.
    "No, sir. I already knew. Prentice and I were at school together Wellington College. He was three years behind me, but I know him." He added nothing more, and his face was deliberately blank. Cullingford could not imagine that they had been friends, for reasons other than the difference in their ages.
    "You'd better send him in," he said.
    "Yes, sir." There was a flicker of understanding in Hadrian's eyes, then he turned on his heel and left.
    A moment later Prentice came in, closing the door behind him. In spite of the fact that Reavley had warned him, Cullingford was startled at how bad Prentice looked. His fair skin had taken the bruising heavily: he was considerably swollen and the flesh around his eye and jaw was bruised dark purple. His lip was distorted out of shape and when he spoke it was with difficulty because one of his front teeth was chipped. His left arm was in a sling to keep it comfortable after the dislocated shoulder had been put back into place, a quick but intensely painful procedure.
    "Good morning, Uncle Owen," he said almost challengingly. "As you can observe, I have been assaulted. You don't seem to have much discipline over your troops."
    Cullingford had intended not to be annoyed by him, and already he had lost. He could feel his temper tighten. "I see men injured far more seriously every day, Eldon. If you don't know the casualty figures, wounded and dead, then you are not doing your job. If you need medical attention, then go and get it. If you are looking for sympathy, mine is already taken up by soldiers who have had their arms and legs blown off, or their bellies torn open. It seems as if your worst injury is a chipped tooth."
    "I assume your soldiers were wounded by enemy fire?" Prentice said stiffly. "I was assaulted by an ambulance driver! An American, for heaven's sake!"
    "Yes, we have a few American volunteers," Cullingford agreed. "They are here at their own expense, living in pretty rough conditions, they eat army rations and sleep when and where they can. I think it is one of the highest forms of nobility I have seen. They give everything, and ask little in return."
    Prentice hesitated, uncertain for a moment how to answer. Cullingford's reply had taken the impetus out of his fury. "I suppose you have no power to exert any kind of discipline over them," he said finally.
    "Never needed to," Cullingford replied straight away, a very tiny smile on his lips.
    "Well, you need to now!" Prentice said in sudden fury. "The man has an ungovernable temper. He went berserk. Lost any kind of control."
    "Who else did he attack?" Cullingford enquired.
    The blood rushed up Prentice's uninjured cheek. "No one, but there was hardly anyone else there! It was only the chaplain who prevented him from killing me, and he wasn't in any hurry. Not much of a chaplain, if you ask me."
    "I didn't ask you," Cullingford snapped. "You're not a child any more, Eldon, to come running to your parents if someone picks a quarrel with you. Deal with your own problems. No one admires a sneak. I thought seven years at Wellington would have taught you that. And in Flanders I am not your uncle, I am the general in charge of this corps. I have one hundred and thirty thousand men, many dead or wounded, replacements to find, food and munitions to transport and, please God, some way to hold the line against the enemy. I haven't time to attend to your squabbles with an ambulance driver. Don't come to me with it again."
    Prentice was livid, but he forced himself to relax his body, shifting his weight to stand more elegantly, as if he were perfectly at ease. "Actually what I came for, Uncle Owen, "was to ask you to give me a letter of authority to go forward to the front lines, or anywhere else I need to, to get the best story. I know correspondents