It seemed too personal, what she wanted to say, so she took a deep breath. "I only wish to add that I think your men are fortunate indeed to have such an advocate." She thought another moment, and knew he was expecting more.
"And ... and if you can bamboozle some lady into marrying you on awfully short notice, she"ll be well taken care of." It came out in a rush, and she knew she had embarra.s.sed herself. "I mean it," she added, further discomfiting herself. "Now, go to sleep and don"t worry about your men. I"ll be there tomorrow as usual, and I will tell them where you are, and that you are destined to convalesce at the Pictons for a while."
He struggled to sit up at her words, and she pushed him down gently. "They will be fine, sir, and relieved to know that you are taking it a bit easier."
"I should be there. Lydia, no one cares as much as I do!"
He was raising his voice and starting to sweat again. Calmly she wiped his forehead. "It is Miss Perkins, Major, and I care about you and them."
"Oh, you do, Miss Perkins?" he said, and sounded formidable. "Then, help me up."
"No."
Amazed at her own effrontery, she pulled back the covers, unb.u.t.toned his pants the rest of the way, turned her head, and pulled them off. "There, sir," she said from the safety of the doorway, with the pants over her arm. "Now, do as you are told." She closed the door behind her.
While she was upstairs, the party had dissolved. She watched from the quiet of the landing as the officers and ladies bid each other good night and went out into the fine evening. The general"s wife noticed Lydia and came up the stairs, smiling to see the major"s pants over her arm.
"The stubborn heroes are the worst ones," she said, taking the trousers. "I know, for I am married to one. He still suffers because he left his bed too soon after his wound at Ciudad Rodrigo. No one knows better than I." She smiled. "Perhaps you will be luckier with your major."
"Oh, he is not mine!" Lydia declared, quite unable to keep the confusion from her voice.
General Picton"s wife only smiled and changed the subject.
Chapter Seven.
Her word was as good as the major"s. She went to St. Barnabas in the morning and informed Major Reed"s men that he was suffering enforced exile at General Picton"s house, and would remain there until he felt better. "It is precisely as I told you it would be," she wrote that night after her return to Holly Street. "They were relieved to know that you were someplace where you might recuperate."
She set down her pen. Now, sir, if you were sitting across from me, you would probably challenge that word "relieved," but I maintain that I am correct. There was disappointment when she told them, but it was the relief she remembered, and a certain satisfaction that someone was seeing to their major.
"I vow I would take it right painfully, if I thought he was suffering," the corporal with the bad leg had told her.
What about you, she wanted to ask, but was too polite to say. She was familiar by now with the fragrance of decay that rose from his blanket, and she did not need to pull back the cover and look at his leg, covered today at her insistence with a wire basket to keep even the pressure of a sheet from it. Why was it not amputated at Toulouse, she wanted to ask someone, but the surgeons were too overworked to question, and she knew that they would only pat her arm and tell her not to fret herself. She could only watch the soldier"s eyes begin to settle back in his head, and fret to herself at the inward look of him now.
She picked up the pen again, telling the major how each man was doing, and added, "I a.s.sure you, I will continue to visit them each day. If you wish, I could visit you, too, but that would take time from the men. Let me know how you are getting on, so I can tell your men. Yours respectfully, etc., Lydia Perkins."
He responded the next day, as she knew he would, and she took the letter to his men, reading it aloud to them. " "I will return as soon as I am able," " she concluded, and could not keep the laughter from her voice. " "Do mind the surgeon, and the first man who troubles Miss Perkins will go on report." There you are."
And there she was, as well. Major Reed had not addressed the suggestion that she visit him, too, so she mentally turned a page, and vowed not to think of him more than once or twice a day.
A week pa.s.sed. More of the men in St. Barnabas had healed sufficiently to return to the ranks, at least according to the surgeon. She could not believe it, but her protests only earned her another pat on the arm, and the remark that only made her grit her teeth: "You needn"t worry your head about this, madam. Let us be the judge."
Corporal Davies left at the end of the week, the bandage over his eye replaced with a patch that made him look like a benevolent sort of pirate. "Watch the rest of them blokes for me, miss," he said. "I don"t like the looks of two or three of"um, but what say do we have?" He shook his head. "And they keep bringing them over." He shrugged and shouldered his kit. "If you"re ever in Belgium, Miss Perkins, look up the Third Battery there. Occupation duty is a dead bore."
She looked around her at the nave of St. Barnabas, as familiar to her now as her own room. The latest wounded from Toulouse who had survived the rough hospital there were lying here now, far gone, many of them, with no place to go except a shabby church on London"s dock.
"It is too bad, Papa," she said that night as she and her father sat together in the book room. Since that first night she had returned so discouraged from General Picton"s, he had been waiting for her in the book room. "Think how everyone is celebrating here with parties and routs, while the men who made victory possible lie in a leaky church with bad drains, mice, and bat soil." Her voice hardened. "We are visited still-plagued is the better word-by fashion fribbles who come to gawk and point, as though the men had no feelings. It is not fair in the least."
"I am certain it is not, my dear," her father said. He held out his hand to her, and she sat beside him. "And are we not to be part of a celebration in two days" time? We can join our own hypocrisy to theirs, my dear."
She grimaced. "The Capitulation Banquet, Papa. How could I forget? Kitty has talked of nothing else, and I am not even sure she knows which continent Toulouse resides on, much less which country."
"Still, I am pleased to know that you are made of sterner stuff, and have rendered a service," he said.
She nodded, too tired to add more to the conversation. Oh, I have done my little part, she thought, with a certain bitterness that surprised her. I do not flinch at the worst wounds anymore, but I still jump when Mama makes a demand or Kitty verges on hysteria if I will not sew a flounce or do her curls. She sighed. "Papa, do you know, we are not really very brave here at home."
The moment the words left her mouth, she realized how rude they sounded, spoken to her parent. "Papa, I mean ... I mean ...." she stammered, quite unable to revise them. Sir Humphrey only shook his head and patted her hand.
"Never mind, my dear," he said, not looking at her, but with nothing but contrition in his already soft voice. "We sit here on the fringes, and hope that Kitty will make an eligible alliance ...." His voice trailed off.
"It never changes anything, does it, Papa?" she asked, driven by some demon of honesty. "I am never pretty enough, and you .... Oh, Papa."
They sat close together in silence until her father cleared his throat. "Daughter."
That was all. He could not bring himself to say any more. In a few moments, Lydia said good night and left the room. She had embarra.s.sed him enough for one evening.
Although she was seldom allowed access to the newspaper, as the hackney drove toward the docks, she heard the news from the running patterers. The Capitulation Events were on everyone"s lips. In the better part of the city, store owners were sweeping the streets with more interest than usual. An arch went up, and another, temporary structures on which to hang the greenery of high summer. When she returned that evening, tired and out of sorts, there were garlands and medallions with the Duke of Wellington"s name prominent.
The victory at Toulouse, if not its full importance, had finally drilled itself into Kitty"s brain, and she was full of cheer that evening at the dinner table. "Lydia, Edwin-I know, I know, Mama, Lord Allsuch-took me to a balloon ascension this morning, and what do you know but the man in the gondola poured out little tickets with Wellington"s name? They were in all colors, and it was beautiful."
Lydia nodded, intent more on her dinner. She never took time for luncheon anymore, and indeed, had lost all appet.i.te for a noon meal after spooning watery gruel down the throats of men who could scarcely swallow anymore. No one remained at St. Barnabas now except the worst cases. To her great distress, some of the men released too early were returned to St. Barnabas, where they died.
I could tell you stories, she thought, looking at her sister, but you do not wish to hear them. "We heard the music of a procession of some sort, I believe," she commented, as she nodded to Stanton to take away the half-eaten course, her appet.i.te gone as quickly as it had come. She did not look at the butler; she knew he was displeased that she ate so little now. She glanced at him quickly-he is worried, more like, she thought, touched at his concern.
As tired as she was, she found some relief in sitting down with Kitty"s dress for the Capitulation Banquet to take in a seam here and let out one there, secure in the knowledge that no one would plead for her to come quickly, for G.o.d"s sake. She had only to sit in a sweet-smelling room, her stockinged feet propped on a ha.s.sock, and sew. How simple this is, she told herself. It could be that I am no better at nursing than anyone of my cla.s.s. She sighed. Or it could be that I am worn down to a nub. Who would have thought it would take death in the afternoon, and suffering in all its forms to make me grateful for the peace and quiet of Kitty"s work?
Simple and pale yellow, her own gown lay carefully folded in the clothespress, with yellow-dyed Moroccan leather slippers close by. It will look especially fine with my dark hair, she thought, and with a paisley shawl. And if Mama does not take the opportunity to comment on all my flaws before I leave the house, perhaps I can believe myself handsome enough for one night.
She returned to St. Barnabas in the morning, and was greeted at once by Major Sam Reed. She almost did not recognize him, because he was standing more straight, and he showed the effects of General Picton"s dinner table. "I am so glad to see you," she said, her pleasure unalloyed by any thought to her forwardness. Mama was not there to remind her, and she was free to enjoy the moment. "Oh, sir, you will do now, won"t you?"
He smiled back at her. "So the general"s surgeon claims, Miss Perkins. I will do." He looked around him, then took her hand and held it close to his chest. "Oh, Lydia, why didn"t I tell you to quit coming here last week, before it reached this stage? We"re at the mouth of h.e.l.l now. It is always this way, and I didn"t think to tell you." He made a face. "Sometimes I wonder why Horse Guards doesn"t just tell the last dying man to blow out the candle before he pegs off, and pull the dirt over him."
She nodded, and made no move to pull her hand away. "No one remains now except the ones who will die?"
"Abominable, isn"t it? Come along." He kept her hand in his and towed her along after him to the lady chapel, where his campaign trunk rested, strapped now, along with a duffle bag and what must be the box for his high-plumed shako.
"You"re leaving?" she asked, seating herself at his table and removing her gloves. I wish you would not, she thought. This place begins to scare me.
He shrugged. "Today or tomorrow," he said, then went to the altar and returned with a hatbox, which he set on the table. "For you, Miss Perkins. I owe you."
"I am certain you do not," she murmured, but her fingers were already untying the white satin ribbon that bound the pasteboard box. She smiled at him. "If it is another bonnet, I will not be able to decline it as I ought. I have a vast, unsatisfied desire for bonnets."
He laughed. "Then, it was a lucky guess. I picked it out, madam. My taste is far from impeccable, but I gave this plenty of thought, and I was guided by the general"s wife."
With a gasp of pleasure, she pulled out the bonnet, a ridiculous confection of chip straw au natural adorned with nothing more than the yellow ribbon tie and a bunch of cherries. It was incredibly understated, much too expensive ever to accept-unless one were Kitty, she reasoned-and too dear ever to decline.
"Here." He took it from her hands even as she stripped her own hat from her head, and then set it carefully on her hair, smoothing the tendrils that had sprung loose because of the warmth of the morning. "Oh, my. Lady Picton was quite right. Wait." He unstrapped his campaign trunk and pulled out his shaving mirror. "Have a look."
No matter which way she turned her face and looked in the small mirror, the hat was a wonder, and she was a wonder in it. All this from a hat? she asked herself. I vow even Mama would wonder at me now. After another moment"s preening (which only made the major smile, she noted in the small s.p.a.ce of the shaving mirror), she removed the hat and replaced it carefully in the box, as though it were blown eggs. "I cannot refuse it," she said honestly. She handed him his mirror. "How did you know?"
"I told you it was a lucky guess," he said as he replaced the mirror, "but I do recall each hat you wore, each a little different-flowers here, berries there-and worn with a certain-" he stretched for a word, looking at the vault overhead-"elan, as the French would have it. Miss Perkins, you have a flair for what becomes you."
"I"m sure I do not," she said promptly. "You need only listen to Mama animadvert upon the subject of my lacks." She replaced her own bonnet, tying it under her ear.
He sat himself on the edge of the table, and did not look at her. "Have you ever entertained the possibility that your mother could be wrong?"
She smiled at him, pleased to see him healthy enough to be clever, and funny. "You are quizzing me!"
"I don"t quiz people very often," he replied, "particularly those who have helped me. I mean it."
"Then, I should blush," she replied, wondering where the conversation had taken this turn. "Actually, my family has high standards of beauty, so I think we can say that my mother is well-informed, sir." She held out her hand to him. "But I thank you for the gift, and yes, I will keep it. Wretch! I cannot resist it!"
"Excellent, madam." There was a pause; the mood changed. He looked over her shoulder. "Miss Perkins, here comes the surgeon. I must have a word with him."
"Very well, sir." She removed her cloak and put on the ap.r.o.n she had left on his bed the day before. As the surgeon approached, Major Reed took her arm.
"Miss Perkins, I really wish that you would leave now," he said, and she could not overlook the concern in his voice. "I suppose it is one thing to sit among the wounded, but these men are really desperate now, and ill beyond redemption."
"And therefore in more need than ever, sir," she said as she gently removed herself from his grasp. "I did not come day after day to ladle out broth, coo, and pat hands, Major Reed. It follows that I have not changed, now that they are all dying."
Brave words, Lydia, she told herself as she stood at the entrance to the lady chapel. She stood silently for a moment, her hands folded in front of her, gathering her courage.
"If you"re determined to stay, sally forth, Miss P."
She turned around. The major was close by and watching her, solemn, but with just a glint of understanding in his eyes.
"I may need a push this morning," she confessed.
"Then, I will provide it." He came closer. "Miss Perkins, if you decide to marry me in the next day or two, I"m certain I can be found." He smiled and gave her a push. "It would certainly forward my scheme of inheritance, and give my aunt no end of pleasure to find out that I wasn"t lying."
"But you were! Oh, bother it, Major Reed. I do not know you, sir, and it"s quite out of the question."
He gave her another nudge, this time with his shoulder, and stood much too close. "I contend that you know me very well, Miss Perkins," he said, looking entirely too serious to suit her.
She shook her head and stepped away from him. "Depend upon it, Major. You now get to reap the rewards of a two-year-old joke on your relatives, unless an amazingly compliant female-which I am not!-can be found."
He nodded. "I suppose you are right. Lying on my stomach at the Picton"s certainly did not produce a wife, and my time is up here in London. Ah, well, Miss Perkins. Go to it."
With another shake of her head at the folly of some people, she went into the nave. The rows and rows of wounded were gone now, some men repaired, others released from the army, but most dead and buried. The stubborn ones, in whom the flames of life still refused to go out, were gathered together in an area closer to the main altar.
There was warm water in a pail beside the altar, so she took a pan from the altar, dipped some water, and added a touch of vanilla extract from the vial she had left there earlier in the week. Cook had given it to her. She took a cloth from her ap.r.o.n pocket and put it in the water. "Oh, this is puny remedy," she murmured. "Lord, help me."
If I were dying, what would I want? she asked herself as she went down the rows with the few other women who were as dogged in their duty as she. She wiped faces, sat and talked, where the soldiers were coherent, and just sat where others were not. I would want to know I was not alone.
It took her a moment to take the hand of the first man who looked close to death. Like the other women, she had busied herself in the last two weeks by cutting hair, shaving and washing faces, and attending to the most superficial of wounds that the surgeons would permit. There were no more men remaining to laugh and tease and flirt just a little as men did, no matter what their state of discomfort.
These were the dying now. They were silent, for the most part, beyond the world but still inhabitants of it in a curious way she could not explain, and which only left her in awe. Fear left her, and was replaced with a feeling of reverence. If mine is the last touch, their last connection with the only world we are sure of, she thought, then let it be a gentle touch, something perhaps like the one that ushered them into the world.
The man was not from Battery B, but as the census of veterans had continued to shrink throughout the week, she knew of him. He was a sergeant, one of the late arrivals from Toulouse. His hand lay hot and already lifeless on his rough blanket. She hesitated only a moment before she took hold of it.
Her grip was different from the surgeon"s, who only took up a hand at the wrist to get a pulse. The sergeant"s eyelids fluttered and then he opened them to look at her.
"h.e.l.lo," she murmured. "You don"t mind if I just sit here, do you?"
After a supreme effort, he shook his head. Another effort, and he spoke. She leaned far forward to hear him. "Tired, miss?"
How can you joke? she asked herself, her wonder far outweighing any squeamishness that remained. She smiled, surprising herself with how easy it was to do, and wiped his face with the vanilla-scented water. "Of course I am tired," she replied. "No one ever told me how exhausting soldiers are."
He smiled, and closed his eyes. She held his hand hour after hour, tightening her grip when he seemed to struggle with whatever was killing him, then loosening it when the pain subsided. He died at noon with a sigh that went on and on. The pain left his face, and his hand relaxed so completely that almost it felt part of hers.
She did not feel inclined to move, and she remained where she was. I am sitting in what is rapidly becoming a charnel house, holding the hand of a corpse, and I have never felt such serenity, she thought. Some part of her brain that was not intensely occupied with what was happening to her found a moment to think about Kitty and Mama, and their pouts and precocities over the most minute irritations. I recommend St. Barnabas" strange catechism, my dears, she thought as she stroked the man"s hand one last time and let it rest on the blanket. I think even you would have to agree that we worry about the most trifling matters.
She stood, trying to lift what felt like blocks of wood from her shoulders, and remained in silence, looking down at the man. "I know nothing about you, Sergeant, beyond your name, and the fact that some overworked surgeon should have removed your leg weeks ago instead of four days past," she whispered. "And I watched you face your last enemy with uncommon grace." His eyes were already closed, but she put her hands on them for a moment. "And you gave me some inkling how I should face death someday."
She turned away in tears. Major Reed sat close by with one of his men, watching her. He started to rise, but she shook her head. In another moment she was seated beside him, head bowed as she cried as quietly as she could.
"Here." He gave her his handkerchief. Beyond a close look full of sympathy, he said nothing more.
When the worst of her calamity pa.s.sed, she blew her nose and calmly tucked her hair back in place. The major leaned toward her then, a slight smile on his face. "I know you are better now. After years and years of living with my sisters and other female relations, I have discovered that the moment a lady smoothes her hair again, and makes herself tidy, she is better."
Lydia nodded. "How do you get used to death?" she asked in a whisper.
"I never do," he replied promptly, "which is why I would say that my Peninsular service has been a trial, to say the very least. I take each death personally, Miss Perkins, and I hate it."
"Then, how do you manage?" It was a quiet question, but he seemed to be expecting it, as though he had begun to antic.i.p.ate her. How odd, she thought.
"I used to get quite drunk, my dear," he said, "but on one of my sober days, I noted that the drunkards among the officer"s corps seemed to have shorter life spans than I wished for myself, so I stopped." He sighed. "Now I think of home, and gra.s.sy meads, and the door opening at my manor house, and Mama coming out to meet me."
"You should be there now, sir," she said. "There isn"t any more you can do here. You"ve told me that much."
"And been ignored by you, I might add," he said, and she had the grace to blush. "You are right; I have been here too long." His voice hardened. "And done little good for these men, beyond adding my halfpenny"s worth to a report that Lord Walsingham will present in all sincerity, and then file in some box and place on a shelf. I will go ...." He looked at the man lying on the cot. "... after he is gone."
She looked, too, chagrined to see that it was the private with the bad leg, the one who had joked with her that first day, and grown increasingly quiet as the infection spread. "I had not thought he would survive the night yesterday," she whispered, leaning close to the major. "I wish he had not. Look how even his face is now swollen with the infection from his leg. Oh, why did they not amputate?" She spoke more loudly than she intended, but she could not help herself. She gestured toward the body of the man she had just left. "And why was his leg amputated too late? Oh, I do not understand!"
The major did not release the hand of his private, but he took hers in his other hand. "Lydia, we know so little. I leave it at that, else I would become more bitter and cynical than I know I am already. You just have to let it alone."
"I cannot!" she said, and the ferocity of her voice startled her.
"You must," he insisted, and squeezed her hand before he released it.